The Associate Professor
by missparker85
Summary: Hermione comes back to England and back to Hogwarts to take over for the retiring Professor Flitwick. Some things are the same, some are not. HGSS.
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: jk rowling owns pretty much everything at this point, doesn't she? and rightly so.

* * *

Hermione Granger graduated from Hogwarts on a warm day in June and slept one night in her childhood bedroom before apparating to America to spend the next five years as a charms apprentice. It was a coveted position and she had worked hard to clinch it for herself – Professor Banks only accepted the best and he chose from every wizarding school in the known world. For Hermione to be chosen… well, she didn't have time to be scared and she didn't have time to think twice about accepting.

And when the five years were up, she came back with a Masters in charm work to England and to her childhood home. She was highly educated but jobless as of yet and with the apprenticeship, she had made only enough to get by in the small Northern Californian town. Professor Banks had taught at The New School for Witches and Wizards, a modern looking building hidden in the hills of Sonoma County. As his apprentice, Hermione had lived at the school and had helped teach his classes. She ate the meals provided for her and got a small stipend, but it was certainly not enough to come home to England and move into her own place.

She'd only come home a few times over the years now her parents were happy to see her.

"What will you do?" they asked immediately.

"Get a job, I suppose," she said. There were a great number of companies that would be happy to have a Charms Mistress, albeit a first year one, but her degree had an emphasis in teaching and it was what she wanted to do the most. She sent out her resume to the ministry, to some elementary wizarding schools (for magical children not yet old enough for wand work) and, with not so much a hope in her heart, Hogwarts.

She wrote Harry and she wrote the Burrow to inform her friends of her return to the country. One of the times she'd returned home had been to attend Harry and Ginny's wedding. Even though Harry owned 12 Grimmauld Place still, he and Ginny held a flat in London and it wasn't long before she received an invitation for lunch.

She showered, dressed, and tossed some floo powder into her parent's fireplace – she'd had them hooked up to the network years ago. She called out the address and stepped through.

Ginny shrieked with glee and threw her arms around Hermione.

"You're so tan!" Ginny said.

"You're so pregnant," Hermione cried, gaping at Ginny's (little Ginny!) rounded belly.

"Nearly seven months now, can you believe it?" she said, resting her hand on her protruding stomach. Hermione had known, of course, for Ginny and Harry had both written with the news, but she had not seen Ginny and now she looked amazing. She glowed; she looked older and maternal and happy.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, shedding her light sweater. London was sticky this summer.

"He just went to pick up some milk," she said, "He'll be right back."

"I owled Ron, he didn't respond," Hermione said, lowering her voice as though someone might hear her.

"I know, he called last night. He's still sore I suppose. You left so suddenly," Ginny said. "I told him it was years ago now, to move on, but Ron is Ron."

"I can't try any harder," Hermione said. "I really can't."

"It's Ron, it isn't you," Ginny said. "There's Harry." The front door opened and Harry came in with a brown paper sack in his arm.

"Hullo, Harry," Hermione said, smiling. His hair was still messy but he'd lost all trace of boyishness in his face and body. His movements were confident, not sullen as they had been for so long after the fall of Voldemort. The loss of Neville in his place had pushed Harry into a deep depression that only Ginny had been able to pull him out of.

"Hermione!" he said, and hugged her. "A sight for sore eyes." She grinned, glad to be home.

America had been academically satisfying but socially lonely. There had been few people her age and she'd had nearly no free time. Most Masters work took seven years but Professor Banks was known for his accelerated program. She'd always been working, publishing, half the time she didn't go home for Christmas. Now she felt rusty and awkward around her friends.

It took several days for any replies to come in regards to jobs. The ministry gave her several departments currently hiring and their contact information. The elementary schools politely declined her offers stating she was over qualified. From a drab brown barn owl, she received a familiar looking envelope with the Hogwarts Crest in wax on the back. She ran her fingers over it, just barely able to make out the lettering, though she knew what it said. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon," she murmured.

"What was that, dear?" her mother asked.

"Nothing," she said and moved from the kitchen to upstairs. In the privacy of her bedroom, she loosened the wax seal and carefully removed the parchment from within.

"Ms. Granger,

Please come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at 11 o'clock Tuesday morning for an interview.

Sincerely,  
Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape"

Hermione dropped the letter. Minerva McGonagall was the current Headmistress and Hermione had been whole-heartedly expecting a gentle rejection from her former head of house, not terse acceptance from a man who loathed her. She was only five years out of the school, which meant the sixth and seventh years of the upcoming term would have been first and second years when she graduated as Head Girl.

And yet, Severus Snape rarely said things he did not mean. She bent over to retrieve the letter and read what little there was again. He'd given her only two days – it was Sunday night and she didn't know if she wanted more time to prepare or if a full day would be just enough to terrify her.

Had she the money, she would have gone to Diagon Alley to get a new, perhaps professional, set of robes. All she really had were her heavy travel robes, androgynous and inappropriate for summer and her California robes that marked her as an apprentice – which she no longer was. Travel robes, it was. She would use a cooling charm.

That morning, she could hardly eat. She nibbled some toast in the empty house; her parents had long since left for work. She burned her tongue on tea and dumped the cup into the sink, frustrated. Finally she apparated to the gates of the castle. It wasn't a long walk, but it was rocky and she had to lift the hems of her robes so she could watch her feet.

The doors opened for her and she took a deep breath in before she could enter the foyer, her thick heels echoing on the stone floor of the empty room.

The hourglasses that tallied house points were still and dark. She unfastened her cloak and draped it over her arm. Five years felt like an eternity and just a moment. She was 11-years-old again, dwarfed by the magic of the place.

"Miss Granger," Snape's voice startled her and she flinched. She turned to look at him standing at the top of the first flight of stairs.

"Professor," she greeted.

"Follow me," he said, and so she climbed the stairs and tried to keep up with his long legs. He wore only his black slacks and buttoned vest – his teaching robes that billowed so ominously had been abandoned for the summer. He was taller without them, she mused.

He led her to the gargoyle, which was open and waiting. Snape stepped aside to let her climb the spiral staircase first. He seated himself behind what was once Dumbledore's desk and which she now suspected was McGonagall's but suited his purpose. He extended his hand to the chair across from him and she took a seat.

"I was surprised to receive your inquiry," he stated. "I heard that you went abroad."

"I did, sir, but I'm back now," she said, and he raised his eyebrow as if to say, 'obviously.'

"I apprenticed with Professor Tobias Banks for the last five years," she amended.

"Admirable," he said, with a nod. "I do not doubt you are qualified. Tell me, why do you want to teach and why specifically at Hogwarts?"

She squared her shoulders, prepared for the questions.

"I love learning, whether I am gaining or imparting the knowledge. My degree is in teaching Charms specifically and Hogwarts is a wonderful school not only in reputation but in practice as well," she paused. "I know, sir, that I am young but you also know I am a hard worker and someone who cares about Hogwarts."

"That's fine," he said, holding up his hand. She nodded and closed her mouth. He pulled out a clean roll of parchment and dipped a quill into an open inkwell. "I am writing you a tentative schedule though anything final will have to be approved by Minerva," he said.

"Wait… am I hired?" she asked, aghast.

"Surely you've heard Filius intents to retire soon?" he asked. She shook her head. "Then why ever did you apply?"

"I just was hopeful," she said, shrugging. He rolled his eyes.

"Nevertheless, Filius will teach the upper classes, years five through seven and you will take up through the fourth years. It is against the bylaws for a Professor to teach students who were once her peers." He handed her the timetable. "Over the next few terms, Filius will teach you to take over, and by the time you are old enough to be the full time Charms mistress, he will be ready to retire."

"Of course," she said, still a little shocked.

"I assume you intend to live in the castle?" he asked.

"I have a choice?" she asked.

"For a while – Part-time faculty are not required to reside on school grounds," he explained.

"No, I'll live here," she said. "Thank you, really, sir, I'm speechless."

"Well," he said. "I'll bask in the rarity." But she didn't mind his sarcasm right then. "You are to arrive at least three days before the start of term. A list of necessities will be owled to you in a few weeks." He stood and she followed suit. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Granger," he said it with a mild sneer but she just smiled.

oooo

Hermione shifted until the telephone was cradled between her ear and her shoulder.

"I'm terrified, actually," she told Ginny. Harry had taught his young wife to use the telephone when they'd moved to Muggle London and now he regretted it often but it was much more convenient for Hermione. "I was excited initially, but now…"

"Oh, don't worry!" Ginny said and Hermione winced at the volume. Ginny still felt she had to yell, no matter how often Harry assured her otherwise. "You were the reason half of Gryffindor graduated; you're a fine teacher."

"Thanks, Gin," she said. "It was rather thrilling for Snape to call me 'professor.'"

"Was he as greasy as he remains in my memory?" Ginny asked, snidely.

"No," Hermione said, thoughtfully. "He wasn't exactly pleasant, but he was far from rude. He seemed almost relieved to hire me, actually. The interview was fast."

"Maybe professor Flitwick is ill or something," Ginny said, her voice falling. "Maybe he really was relieved to find someone."

"I guess I'll find out," she said.

"Well, anyway, you're qualified and that's what matters," Ginny said. "Harry says to ask you to dinner." Hermione could hear her best friend in the background.

"I'm knackered, maybe tomorrow," Hermione declined. "Thanks anyway."

"All right, bye," Ginny said.

"Bye," Hermione said, and replaced the phone into the cradle. She knew that Ginny was bored being unable to travel easily so late in her pregnancy and Harry was at work as an Auror most of the day and sometimes half the night.

Hermione's parents were proud that she found a job so quickly and one that she seemed to be happy about but her father muttered something about Hogwarts always taking his daughter away. Before long, she received her midsummer instructions. Mostly it contained ordering forms – if she needed supplies over the year, she would need to order it all early. She and professor Flitwick had yet to correspond, so she wrote him a quick note asking him a few questions about what she might need. Also included was the Hogwarts handbook – the rules and bylaws of the school for students and faculty alike as well as a quick note from Headmistress McGonagall, welcoming her to the staff. She felt a jolt of excitement. It was beginning to feel real and she knew she had to start preparing. Mentally, at least, for she couldn't afford much. She needed a good set of teaching robes but that would come later. For now, she would try to transfigure what she could.

Over the next several weeks, she and Professor Flitwick corresponded until one day his note asked if she would consider coming to the castle in the morning for their order had come and it was getting on time to unpack and set up the classroom. Hermione agreed to this and promptly went upstairs to pack her trunk.

She left early, kissing her parents goodbye with her things made small to fit in her pocket. This time she wasn't in awe of the foyer of the castle. She knew where professor Flitwick's office was (would she get her own office?) and went right to it.

The door was open and he was buried in a cupboard.

"Professor?" she called, not wanting to startle him.

"Oh! Mistress Granger, you're here!" he said, emerging and flailing his small body about in excitement. "And just in time for breakfast."

"Please, call me Hermione. Am I too early?"

"Of course not," he said. "Leave your things, we can get started after the meal."

"All right," she said, removing her cloak and laying it over the back of a chair. "I'm so pleased to be here."

"Everyone is excited to have you join the staff," he assured her. She looked down at her t-shirt, jeans, and trainers.

"I didn't know I'd be meeting everyone today, I hope this is all right," she said, grimacing at her casual clothing. Casual and Muggle.

"Stop worrying!" he said. "Let's go." She had to consciously slow down so she didn't out pace him while walking, but they made it to the great hall in only minutes. The four house tables were covered with heavy white cloth for the summer but about half the staff was milling around the high table. It was one week until the students came and there were a few faces Hermione didn't recognize. Snape had gone back to teaching potions after his name had been cleared and Slughorn had returned to retirement so she presumed one of the strangers taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. McGonagall spotted her and smiled.

"Hermione, you've arrived!" she said, waving her over. She approached the table and let her former head of house give her a rigid hug.

"Only just," she said.

"Good timing on your part, then," McGonagall said. "Have a seat!" Hermione stood awkwardly, waiting for Flitwick to sit so she would know where to go, but McGonagall pressed her into a seat and when everyone was still, Flitwick was six seats away and Snape had ended up on her left with McGonagall on her right.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he murmured, spreading apricot jam over a piece of toast.

"Good morning," she said and shyly salted her eggs. And that was all they said.

oooo

She worked all day with Flitwick, moving crates and cataloging inventory. They took lunch in the classroom while writing lesson plans and until sunset. Finally, Hermione had to ask.

"Do you have any idea where I am to sleep tonight?"

"Oh! You aren't moved in yet, my goodness," Flitwick said. "You'll need to talk to Severus about that, I imagine."

"Does he still hold his office in the dungeons?" she asked, picking up her cloak that still held her shrunken trunks inside.

"Yes, yes," Flitwick said. "We can pick up again tomorrow." She bid him goodnight and went down several stories where she reached the damp, dark dungeons. The walls were at least mostly dry in the summer, she noted.

She knocked on the door to his office, hoping he was in. She was tired and wanted to get settled in her new home. She heard him through the thick door calling for entrance and she stuck her head in.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," she said. She was always overly polite with him for it had always taken so little to upset him. "I was told you would know where my chambers are to be?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "Of course." He stood and took his cloak off a hook on the wall. At night the castle was chilled, no matter the season. "You have a choice. The staff quarters are all over the castle as opposed to all in one place so one of us can always be somewhere quickly."

"Makes sense," she agreed.

"There is a vacant room near the kitchens – close to the Hufflepuffs, a vacant space on the fourth floor, and one in the dungeons."

"Here?" she asked. "Near the Slytherins?"

"Yes, they used to be mine but as deputy headmaster I was required to relocate," he explained. "They are… lacking in natural light but are quiet. You'll not be disturbed."

"I think, I mean, I believe I'd prefer the fourth floor," she said. She wasn't sure that she could be comfortable living in Snape's old quarters, plus—

"Nearest to the Library?" Snape asked.

"Well," she said, blushing, "I see you haven't forgotten me completely."

"No," he said. "I have not."

oooo

The room contained a bedroom, a bathroom, and a sitting room.

"Lovely," she said. Snape did not stay and so she reset the password. In the handbook, there was a rule that all Professors must inform the headmaster or mistress of their passwords in case of emergency and she made a mental note to do so in the morning. She finally righted her trunk and suitcase. All her clothes were wrinkled and she spent a while steaming them with the tip of her wand and hanging them. She didn't bring much – books mostly and a few waving pictures: Harry and Ginny's wedding portrait and Harry, Ron and herself as fourth years. Harry waved and Hermione smirked but Ron turned his back on her. He was still mad. She had one still photo of her parents.

Feeling accomplished, she took a shower and went to bed happy that Hogwarts was once more her home.

The week went quickly and each passing day, Hermione became more nervous. She knew she wasn't unqualified, but she also knew that Hogwarts was full time even for a part-time professor and if her years here meant anything, these children would be a handful. She decided to wear her apprentice robes – transfigured for the day to be black and lengthened to be floor length. But they were worn and she knew it. She wore them to breakfast.

"I'm going into town," McGonagall said to her. "I remember my first job, how badly I needed it. Why don't you come along and we'll get you some proper teaching robes and write it off as a school expense," she said. She kept her voice low as not to embarrass Hermione.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't have the money," she said, blushing. "Thank you."

Gladrags was empty in the early afternoon and McGonagall dropped her off to find something with permission to charge it to Hogwarts' account. The witch behind the counter was glad to help her – she wanted to take measurements but Hermione was adamant about just taking something basic off the rack. Teaching robes traditionally were very conservative and Hermione found a set with long sleeves and a high, buttoned neck in deep purple. They were on sale and she took them.

The sun sunk slowly into the horizon and Hermione went up to the astronomy tower to wait. She wasn't sure how she would be greeted. She was, technically in the eyes of a ministry, a war hero but she didn't want to be remembered like that. So many people had died.

She saw the plume of steam from the Hogwarts Express over the trees and knew it wouldn't be much longer until the castle was filled and alive. She wondered if she would still be teaching when Ginny and Harry's baby came to Hogwarts.

"It's nearly time, Miss Granger." The deep voice came from behind her.

"Oh, I know," she said, turning around to look at Professor Snape. "I'm just mentally preparing." He nodded. "How did you know to find me up here?"

"The portrait of Albus – he said you used to come up here often during your studies." She smiled a sad smile and followed him down the stairs.

Everything was almost the same. The hat sang and the children were sorted. The table groaned under the weight of the feast. The new prefects showed off their shiny badges and the Slytherins sneered and the Gryffindors groaned. Still, the absence of Dumbledore was upsetting and watching Snape run the sorting was surreal. Professor Flitwick patted her hand reassuringly.

"We have a new addition to our faculty," McGonagall announced, her fork hitting her water goblet. "I'd like to welcome Professor Granger. She will be co-teaching charms with Professor Flitwick." The Gryffindors who remembered her as Head Girl clapped the hardest. Hermione dipped her head gratefully.

She watched the prefects lead their houses away and watched the dishes start to disappear from the table.

"Not so terrible," Flitwick said, hopping off his chair. She smirked and also left the great hall for her chambers. She wanted to be refreshed for her first day of classes. She only taught four classes a day – one class for each year. Ravenclaws and Gryffindors alternated days with Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. She had no classes on Fridays and only taught in the mornings. It was a decent schedule.

She did get her own office, incidentally, tiny as it was. It fit a desk and a bookshelf and little else. Still, it was her own.

In the morning, she barely ate breakfast. She didn't notice Snape sit down next to her.

"You'll wish you at least had a nip of tea and some toast," he said.

"Good morning," she murmured only a little startled.

"You look nervous. You should try looking fierce," he said.

"Are you giving me advice?" she asked.

"You're very qualified, I'd hate to see the first years chew you up and spit you out on the first day," he said. This steeled her.

"Hardly," she snapped. She took a hearty bite of eggs. Snape smirked.

Her first years stared at her with round eyes. This was, after all, their first class as well.

"I'm Professor Granger," she said. "I will eventually learn your names but not by today, so everyone stand up. When I call your name, sit." She pointed to the front desk. "Gemma Alcott," she called. The class groaned – no one wanted to be sat alphabetically. "Quiet," she snapped and was pleased when they obeyed.

They started with principle and theory. No wands for the first week – pages of lecture and notes. By the end of the day, after dinner in the staff room, McGonagall walked up to her and shook her hand.

"Congratulations, Professor," she said. "You are a hard ass." Everyone erupted into laughter and she blushed at hearing such language come out of her former head of house's mouth. "Don't tell Severus, though, he'll not want to be ousted."

"I imagine not," she said. "I would never dream of being that cruel."

"I wasn't so bad, in your last year," he said, standing in the doorway where she hadn't seen him. He wasn't lying. After his name had been cleared and his double life laid out for all to see on the front pages of the Daily Prophet, his blatant favoritism had gone away. He was still as strict and demanding as ever, it just included the Slytherins.

"Severus likes to linger outside of rooms," Professor Sinestra informed her.

"No, you were extremely helpful in studying for my NEWTs," Hermione acknowledged. The room fell quiet as the Professors listened to Hermione and Severus converse quietly.

"Well," said McGonagall loudly with a clap. "Who wants Sherry?"

oooo

Severus and Minerva sat in the round office protected by the large, stone gargoyle. It was early, forty-five minutes before breakfast yet.

"I was surprised you hired Miss Granger," Minerva said, breaking the silence with something other than the turning of a page of newspaper.

"I thought you would be pleased," he said, stirring sugar into his teacup.

"I am," she said.

"You told me Filius was looking to retire and asked me to hire an associate to help him," Severus said.

"I did," she agreed.

"She was the most qualified," he raised his voice.

"I don't doubt it," she said.

"Then why even mention it?" he snapped.

"I was just surprised," she said. "Don't be cross."

"I'm not cross!" he growled. The portrait of Dumbledore chuckled. When the two occupants of the office glanced at the frame, the old wizard pretended to be sleeping. Severus rolled his eyes. "I'll see you at breakfast." He stood and stomped from the office.

"What do you think?" Minerva asked the portrait of Dumbledore.

"Wait and see," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes opening. "You can't hurry these kinds of things." Minerva sipped her tea.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione tried not to let her grading pile up on her. She started out in her office but the lack of fireplace drove her out so she migrated to her chambers. There were only a few students out for curfew was near. She passed the library and halfway between her chambers and library doors, Snape stood staring at a suit of armor.

"Professor?" she asked. He glanced at her, noted her full arms.

"Please go deposit those in your chambers and come back," he said. Curious, she did so. When she came back, he was still rooted in the same spot.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Peeves," he said. "Told me I should check on this spot but I couldn't find anything amiss."

"How long have you been standing here?" she asked, smirking.

"About 20 minutes," he said.

"That's probably the prank unto its self. Stand here much longer, Peeves will drop something awful on you," she said.

"Do you think?" he asked, looking at her sharply. Hermione nodded. "Perhaps I'll go have a word with the Bloody Baron. He seems to be the only one who can frighten Peeves into behaving."

"All right," Hermione said. "Goodnight." He raised his eyebrows.

"Goodnight, Professor," he said and walked away. She shook her head and went to her chambers to finish her grading. Ten minutes later, the suit of armor exploded with water and quickly began flooding the hallway – then the entire floor. Water started seeping into her room and she grabbed her wand and pushed into the hallway, ignoring the wave of water that hit her when she opened her portrait. The water was already knee deep and Hermione trudged through it, barking at the few gaping students to return to their common rooms and yelling at the Prefect from Hufflepuff to fetch Snape.

It took almost ten more minutes for Hermione to find the right charm to stop the water. She was drenched and the water was nearly up to her neck.

"Miss Granger!" Snape was wading toward her. She saw various professors coming up and down the stairs and a few on broomstick.

"The Weasley twins," Hermione called. "Peeves probably took something from Filch's office."

"How do we clear it?" he asked.

"I only just stopped it," she said, exasperatedly.

"It only has one good flood in it anyway," one of the professors called. He was hovering above them on his broomstick. His name was John Merry-something, she thought. He was the new Quidditch pro and she'd met him only once and swiftly.

"It's freezing," she said, to no one in particular.

"It's the entire floor but the water stops at the stairs." This was McGonagall calling from the staircase below.

"The twins really are very good at practical joke magic," Hermione said through chattering teeth.

"Let's get out of here," Snape said. He started slugging his way chest deep toward the stairs but Hermione who was already wet from head to toe merely dove under and swam her way to freedom. When she emerged, everyone was looking at her with an amused expression. She tried to ring out her robes but she was heavy with water and even when she used her wand, she just ended up damp. Her hair was straight with the weight of water and had gained several inches but as the water dripped from the ends, the curls were already starting to assert themselves. Snape finally pulled himself out of the water and stood dripping next to her.

"Could one of us, preferably one who is dry, go get Filius?" Snape said, his voice a deadly calm. John Merry-something sped off on his broom.

"What do you think we ought to do?" Hermione asked.

"Wand work is not my forte, it's yours," Snape said. She frowned. A few banishing spells lowered the water level but the water damage remained.

"I hope the library is all right," Hermione muttered, not wanting to incur the wrath on Madam Pince for any infraction, let alone mass ruin. "Perhaps I should wait for Professor Flitwick."

"Come now, you can do this," Snape urged. "Close your eyes and concentrate." His gentle encouragement surprised her. Combined banishing and drying was not impossible. She just had to concentrate on where she was sending the water. She pictured the Black lake clearly in her mind and spoke a few key Latin phrases. When she opened her eyes, the water was gone and the hallway was as it once was. The only water remaining was dripping from either of them. Hermione felt ripe with power.

"Well done, dear," McGonagall said, patting her cold, wet shoulder. The small crowd dispersed just as the curfew bells began to ring. Flitwick appeared.

"What flood?" she heard him squeak.

"Farewell," Snape said and tried to walk away with his dignity intact, though his shoes squirted water with every step. After a warm shower, Hermione slept hard, her grading ignored.

oooo

Hermione was relieved when the first Hogsmeade weekend arrived, one and a half months into the term. Most of the children who were old enough fled the castle gleefully Hermione took to leaving her office door wide open to try to give the small room the illusion of space. Now that the children in her classes were actually practicing charms instead of just writing about them, Hermione was free from constant essays. The older children had term papers and Flitwick always had feet and feet of parchment to grade – Hermione didn't look forward to that.

Instead, Hermione sat with her feet propped on her desk reading an academic charms journal with her reading glasses on the tip of her round nose.

"Am I interrupting?" She glanced up at Snape, who stood a few feet from her open door.

"Of course not, Professor," she said, setting the article down. "What did you need?"

"A potion," he said, and grimaced.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "I seem to remember that being your forte so to speak."

"My seventh years are making veritaserum," he clarified. "I am providing them with the base potion but it is… easier to make with two people."

"And you're asking me?"

"You are here," he said. "You will not make a lazy or hazardous mistake."

"Why, that was nearly a compliment," she said. "Yes, I suppose getting out of this broom closet might be nice." She stood and closed the office door behind her. In the lab, cauldrons simmered and the smell was overwhelmingly bitter. For an odorless, tasteless potion, its concoction was anything but.

"I need you to operate the distillery while I ready the ingredients for the next section." She moved seamlessly around the lab only sporadically asking for direction. It was over two hours before the potion allowed them to break for lunch. Hermione was relieved – her stomach was starting to protest.

"I was surprised you chose Charms," Snape said, walking up to the great hall. Their pace was unhurried.

"Were you?" she asked. "You were never one for wand waving or silly incantations." He smirked.

"Anyone who could brew polyjuice as a second year… you have a natural affinity toward potions," he said.

"I should probably admit to stealing ingredients from you to make that particular batch of polyjuice," she said, whispering theatrically.

"Yes, thank you. How helpful. I didn't figure that out when you turned yourself into a cat," he said, dryly.

"Oh, let's always talk about that as often as possible," she sighed.

"It was payment enough," he said, snickering. They approached the high table and he pulled out her chair for her. She was totally surprised. Snape, when pressed, could be more than civil. He could be a gentleman. Most of the students didn't attend lunch since they were still at Hogsmeade and over half of the staff was absent as well. Hermione and Snape had an entire end of the table to themselves.

She kept the subject to academia; a topic she knew they would both be comfortable with and one she knew would not dry up anytime soon. She always had questions and for once, he answered them with out any caustic comments.

"I suppose it is never too late to obtain more degrees. I've always admired potions as well as healing," she said.

"Oh, healing is all very well and good, but I wouldn't want to become one of St. Mungo's indentured servants. There are better magical hospitals at which to learn, hospitals that are not so heavily influenced by their governments," he commented.

"I've left the country once for my education, sir, and I learned that I prefer the gloomy British countryside. If I do obtain another degree, I would prefer to do so here," she admitted.

"Well, that would be easy enough," Snape said. Hermione's chuckle was dry and disbelieving.

"I doubt a potions apprenticeship would ever be easy, not to mention the grueling application process and the magical contract I would need to enter. Also I have neither the time nor the funds."

"Well, I doubt we could finish in the seven years with you teaching charms, but it wouldn't be impossible," he said, thoughtfully. Hermione's sandwich froze in the air.

"We?" she asked.

"I am a seasoned Potions Master," Snape pointed out, his lips curling. "I've never taken on an apprentice, but I have been one and I believe I know roughly how it might go." His sarcasm was obvious.

"Well, yes, but I just never…" she trailed off, "I don't know what to say. Allow me to consider it?"

"Yes," said Snape. "Do."

oooo

Christmas came and Hermione didn't stay at the castle. She'd yet to see the newest addition to the Potter family; a little girl they named Charlotte but called Lola. She was nearly three months old, now. Christmas started at the burrow but everyone knew it would end at 12 Grimmauld Place. Everyone arrived to the Weasley's kitchen and when the party no longer fit, they moved to the once headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Fleur and Bill came, Charlie and both the twins who hugged Hermione and swung her around.

Hermione had been reluctant to go. She sat on the worn sofa in Harry and Ginny's living room at the flat, holding the tiny, sleeping girl. Behind her closed lids, her eyes were green and she had dark red fuzz over her soft head.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Hermione said for the third time.

"Maybe you should stop letting someone you didn't love dictate your actions," Ginny said, coming into the room. "Ron wasn't right for you, and you're happier for your choice. Please don't let the past ruin Christmas." The baby kicked in her arms a little but stilled.

"You made a pretty baby," Hermione said. "Did I tell you that?"

"It isn't a secret," Ginny said, airily. "But don't change the subject."

"You think we ought to go to the Burrow first or straight to Black Manor?" Harry asked, coming in with one shoe on and the other in his hand.

"For heaven's sake, Harry, it's been your house for nearly a decade; can't you call it something else?" Hermione said.

"12 Grimmauld Place is such a mouthful," he complained.

"You could call it 'my house,'" Hermione suggested.

"Meh," Harry said. "Are we ready then?" Hermione handed Lola to her mother.

"Let's go home first," Ginny said. They agreed and flooed to the Burrow, Hermione filled with apprehension. As it turned out, Ron wasn't there and wouldn't arrive for another day. He'd become what he'd most feared – another Weasley working for the Ministry of Magic and Hermione was sure he blamed her for that as well. They'd had not even been dating when she'd left, but Ron had felt it was always unspoken. Sometime after graduation, he and Hermione would marry and have children. Ron had never actually consulted Hermione about this, however, and when she'd announced her plans to go abroad, he'd been devastated and without direction. She'd gone anyway.

The Burrow was already crowded with people – most of them Weasleys and all of them glad to see Hermione. There were a few aurors and the occasional unrecognizable face. People who didn't have anywhere to go for the holidays went to the Weasleys. Soon, Molly started ordering people into the Floo and the party moved to Harry's house.

Hermione was surprised to find Snape sitting in the library; perhaps the only empty room in the house, reading by a dying fire.

"Professor," she said. "You're here."

"One can't be expected to always skulk around the dungeons," he said dryly.

"I suppose not," she said, uncertainly.

"Molly comes to the castle to yell at me in person if I don't show up for Christmas. It is most unpleasant," he admitted, putting his book on the small, round table by his chair. "How have your holidays been so far?" he asked.

Hermione was no longer surprised by conversations with Snape. He was always willing to talk to Hermione as long as they were alone and had a subject they were both interested in to discuss. If there was an audience, Snape retreated to the shadows to observe and sneer but that was to be expected. They were alone in the library, though, so Hermione sat in the other chair, glancing at the book he was reading. She didn't recognize the title – it looked to be in Greek.

"Just fine," she said, in regards to his question. "Ginny had the baby, you know. She's beautiful."

"Is she," he drawled. "One of many, I'm sure."

"Don't be snide," she chided. "It's nice to see Harry happy for once."

"And are you?" he asked.

"Am I what?"

"Happy, Miss Granger, are you happy?" he asked. She looked into the fireplace. She could easily point her wand and bring the fire to a roar but she liked watching the embers burn, talking to Snape in low and indefinite light.

"I believe so," she said. "At times I am very happy." She looked at him, but he, too, was watching the fire die. "Suppose you call me Hermione."

"Suppose you stopped calling me 'Sir' all the time as if I could still take house points away and send you to your tower," he said, his tone matching hers.

"Are you happy?" she asked, ignoring his cheek.

"I am, for the time, content," he acknowledged.

"That's vague," she said, with a snort. "Content like you're waiting for something better or content like a cat getting fat off of warm cream?"

"You really do know how to mince the language, don't you?" he asked, with a chuckle.

"I'm not going to sit here and be insulted when there is eggnog downstairs which I happen to know has been spiked by several different people," she said, rising. "Come down if you feel sociable."

"Maybe in a bit, Hermione," he said, testing the new waters. She nodded once, an approval, and left him to his book.

oooo

By the time he came downstairs, everyone was already a little tipsy and loud with laughter. The smell of dinner had drawn him from his cave. Molly Weasley was meddlesome and emotional, but she was a good cook. People stood in clumps, conversing. He tried to avoid every group that had the red hair of a Weasley but it was an impossible feat. The kitchen was the heart of the party, and he stuck his head in to see if he could be of any assistance. It was filled with women – Molly and Minerva as well as Molly's only daughter, Nymphadora, and Hermione.

"Hello, Severus," Molly called. "Happy Christmas!"

"And to you, Molly," he said, dutifully. "Anything you need help with?"

"How disappointed you would be if I said yes," she cackled and he rolled his eyes.

"I'll take that as a no," he said.

"You can help Ginny and I set the table," Hermione said, thrusting a stack of plates at his chest. "We're eating in the formal dining room tonight," she said.

"It is to be very fancy," Ginny said, snorting.

"Stop teasing," Molly said. "It isn't wrong to want something to be nice for a change. Almost impossible with you lot, but still…" Ginny rolled her eyes and the three of them left the kitchen will armfuls of dishes, cutlery, and cloth napkins.

"I'm married with a baby and she still thinks we're all six," Ginny said, laughing. Her face was flushed red with alcohol and both women seemed rather giggly. The formal dining room was probably the only room in Black Manor that could fit the enormous holiday party. Harry hardly used the house, and this room was used the least. The long, black table was crammed with chairs and a wrought iron chandelier hung over the table. The décor, or what was left of it, was quite gothic. It didn't help to have garish Christmas decorations everywhere.

"Isn't it hideous?" Hermione whispered.

"Quite," he said, setting a plate in front of each chair. Hermione trailed behind him with the silver and Ginny was charming the napkins into folded fans with her wand. He cleared his throat and looked at Ginny. "I hear congratulations is in order for you and your," he swallowed, "husband."

Ginny looked around to be sure he was talking to her.

"Thank you, Professor," she said. "I appreciate that."

"Where is your daughter?" he asked, realizing he'd yet to see the baby anywhere.

"Asleep upstairs. The house is charmed to let me know if something is wrong," she said. "If you'd like to see her, I'll take you up there after dinner."

"I don't think that will be…"

"Yes, let's!" Hermione jumped in. "I'm sure Severus would love to meet Lola," she added.

"Indeed," Snape said and left the dining room to get the water glasses. Ginny stared at her.

"Severus?" she asked. Hermione shrugged. "Did you make him say that?" Ginny demanded.

"He's different now, I told you," Hermione said.

"I'll say," Ginny said. "I think I need more to drink."

When everyone sat down, the noise was almost too much to hold polite conversation, so Snape didn't try. He sat between Minerva and Remus and Hermione was too far to see, let alone speak with. He ate quickly and drank the red wine instead of the white. After the food there was pie and pudding and after that, more alcohol and no signs of the party breaking up. Snape, however, felt a little drunk and a lot tired, and decided to slip out when the least amount of people would notice. He made it all the way to the apparation chamber where he'd stored his cloak before Hermione caught up with him.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I will not return for further festivities, so have a Happy Christmas."

"You can't leave yet," she said, opening the door and letting the din of the party into the small, sparse room. "One more thing and then I'll let you go." He frowned but followed her back into the warmth and celebrations. She wove effortlessly through people and led him to the dark and narrow staircase. The second floor was as empty as the ground floor was full. She held a finger to her lips and opened a door at the end of the hall. Inside he saw a small, wooden crib and held his breath. The baby.

She walked right up to the crib and motioned for him to come over. He stood next to Hermione and peered down at the small bundle in the middle of the white mattress. She was asleep on her back, having drifted off looking at the mobile hung above her. Her features were relaxed and delicate. She looked almost pleasant.

"Isn't she lovely?" Hermione whispered.

"She looks very…" he searched for something appropriate. "Fair skinned." Hermione snorted with laughter, and clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it.

"Is that the best you can do? She's a baby, she's darling." Hermione said.

"Let's not further risk waking her," Snape said, and they shut the door gently behind them. The hall was dark and the sounds of the party floated up to them.

"I didn't get you a gift," Hermione admitted.

"I didn't get you one, either," he said. "But I doubt you'll be shocked by that."

"No. I wish I had thought to get you something now, though," she said.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"I think if I were to reach into my robes and hand you something meaningful, it would be very sweet of me," she admitted.

"You're not even wearing robes, you're wearing a Muggle dress," he pointed out.

"The gesture, Severus," she said, impatiently.

"Perhaps it's best it has worked out the way it has," he said. "I would feel bad not being able to return the favor."

"I guess," she said. "Well, I think I'll go back in and sit with her for a while. Appreciate the quiet before I get too drunk to remember the rest of the evening."

"Goodnight, then," he said, looking down at her with an almost fond expression. And maybe it was because she was already halfway drunk that she raised herself up on the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Goodnight," she said and slipped back into the room. He put his hand to his face and nearly fell down the stairs trying to get out of the house. He could have flooed directly to his office, but instead he went back to the apparation room and apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. He thought a brisk mile walk through the snow would do him good, for his heart was racing and his skin was flushed.

_Hermione Granger_, he thought to himself, _how interesting_.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione woke up with a hangover. There were plenty of rooms at 12 Grimmauld Place but Hermione had decided to floo back to the castle and sleep it off in her own bed. She'd neglected to close here draperies the night before and now was drenched in sunlight, sweating and nauseous in her bed. She remembered faintly that the dungeon rooms that could have been hers had no natural light and she cursed.

"I'm never drinking again," she said, pushing the covers away and tentatively putting a foot to the floor. Sitting upright was a whole new challenge and the room spun a bit.

"Bloody hell," she moaned, getting up and making her way into the bathroom to relieve her self and splash cold water on her face and try not to be sick. She leaned heavily on the sink and dared a glance into the mirror.

"You look awful," her reflection said, cheerfully.

"Sod off," she grumbled and turned on the cool tap and stuck her face in it. Feeling a little better, she went into the sitting room to find her wand. It was sitting on the coffee table, next to a tray of tea and toast and a small blue vial that was a welcome sight. There was a bit of parchment and she picked it up, holding it away from her face so she could read it.

It seems I figured out what to get you for Christmas after all.

The note wasn't signed but it was in Snape's familiar handwriting and who else would leave her a vial of hangover potion? She drank it greedily and sighed in relief as all her symptoms slowly dissipated. She would have to thank him. She ate the toast before it got cold, ignored the tea, and went for a shower before she had to go back to the, she imagined, much more demure festivities at 12 Grimmauld Place for Christmas morning. She put on jeans, this time, and a red long sleeved shirt. She wanted to be comfortable. She put on her heavy boots and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Her Muggle jacket was worn but comfortable and warm. It was brown corduroy and made a swishing noise when her arms swung while she walked. She gathered her few gifts into her bag and left her rooms. She almost went straight to the party, but instead, she found her feet had led her downstairs to Snape's office. He probably wouldn't even be in there, and she wasn't sure where is actual chambers were. Still, she knocked, and was surprised to hear his voice on the other side of the heavy door.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to say thank you," she said. "For the potion."

"You're welcome," he said. "Are you on your way out?"

"Yes," she said. "You really should come. Being alone on Christmas can't be much fun."

"Being alone is what I prefer," he said, picking up his quill again.

"All right," she said. "Thank you again."

He watched the door long after she was gone.

Hermione was greeted with whispers as the groggy bunch lounged around the house. No one had bothered to make breakfast and there were no children, except for Lola, so there was no one clamoring to open presents or sing carols.

"This is depressing," Hermione said, setting her gifts on the wooden table with the others.

"You were just as smashed as the rest of us, why the hell do you look so cheerful?" asked Tonks, whose hair was dully brown and listless, a sure sign of her mood.

"I took a potion," she said. "I recall you being in advanced potions, Harry, you know how to make a simple hangover draught."

"Don't lecture me, Hermione," he mumbled from his position on the sofa, sprawled out in sweat pants and his jumper from Molly. The 'H' was a little crooked this year. She imagined hers would look much the same.

"Fine, I'll put some coffee on," she said, turning to go into the kitchen. She noticed the flames in the fireplace turn green, though, and waited to see who came out, hoping Snape had changed his mind. Instead, the tall, gangly form of Ronald Weasley stepped out. She hadn't seen him in years and even with his anger, she was happy to have a look at him. He was taller than when he was at 18, by an inch or two. He'd grown a beard and it made him look older and more distinguished which was probably why he'd done it in the first place. He wore slacks and a sweater, not the hand-me-down clothes she was used to seeing him in. He looked at her, though, and a look of panic crossed his features and he was still the Ron she remembered.

"Hi," she said.

"Happy Christmas Ron!" Harry said, and then moaned, wishing he'd not spoken so loudly. Ron was still looking at Hermione.

"Hello," he said, and walked past her. Hermione bit her lip, stung. Harry looked at her sympathetically and got up to go find Ron. She was not in the mood for Christmas.

"I should just go, eh?" she asked Tonks, who was watching quietly.

"No!" she said. "Stay, it will be fine." Hermione wasn't sure. She sat down unsteadily on the spot that Harry had vacated. She could hear Molly and Arthur in the kitchen, greeting their son. Ginny came downstairs with the baby on her hip. Lola had wide eyes this morning and a lace bow around her head.

"You're here, good," Ginny said. "We all feel like arse."

"Ron is here," Hermione whispered. Ginny sat next to her.

"Speaking of arses," she said. "What did he do?"

"Nothing… he said hello and walked away." Hermione said. "He didn't hex me, I suppose. There's that."

"He's thick headed, he always has been," Ginny consoled her. "Don't let it ruin your holiday."

"I mean, I don't know what he expects me to do!" she said, her voice shrill. "I've apologized enough. I'm not sure there is anything I can do."

"Probably not," Ginny said.

"Give me that baby," Hermione said, reaching for Lola. She wanted to hold the baby close to her and smell her baby smell. Ginny handed Hermione the girl who kicked her feet excitedly. Hermione kissed the top of Lola's head and inhaled deeply. Lola was warm against her and Hermione stood and took the baby close to the fire.

"You love me, right?" Hermione asked, watching the flames. Lola didn't respond but her tiny head against Hermione's shoulder was assuring enough.

oooo

Hermione was standing at the sink absent-mindedly drying the dishes that Ginny handed her with a dishtowel. The kitchen door creaked open and Hermione thought for the thousandth time that someone ought to oil the hinges.

"Oh," Ron said, spying his sister and Hermione, and he turned to go.

"Ron, you hulking brainless mass, come into this kitchen immediately," Ginny snapped. "I mean it, I can do far worse than a bat bogey hex these days." Ron stopped and turned around, his eyes on his feet. "Let's move past this," Ginny said.

"Move past what?" Ron mumbled.

"I'm sorry I left so abruptly, Ronald. I wish we could be friends again," Hermione said. "It's been a long time, after all."

"Not so long," Ron said, looking up. "You look well, though."

"You too," Hermione said. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," he said with a nod. Having nothing left to say, Ron made his retreat. Ginny scowled.

"It's no use beating a dead horse, Ginny," Hermione murmured.

"He'll come around," Ginny said.

"Yeah? Well I'm not so sure I even want him to anymore," Hermione said. "He and his grudge can just live happily ever after together." She threw down her dishtowel. "I'm going home."

"But haven't opened presents yet," Ginny pleaded.

"Tell Harry goodbye, and owl me whatever I leave behind," Hermione said, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Hermione," Ginny said, but Hermione disapparated with a pop and Ginny found herself talking to air. "Now you've gone and done it, you half-wit," she growled and flung open the kitchen door to search for her youngest brother.

oooo

Hermione wished she'd at least waited to get her coat before apparating, or used the floo. But she hadn't wanted to face any of the people there and now it was dark and she was walking through the snow for a mile with no cloak, hat, or gloves. She was freezing. She set her self a steady pace but by the time she reached the castle doors, her teeth were chattering beyond control and her lips and fingertips were blue. She'd cast a warming charm but she was so angry that she couldn't concentrate so the result wasn't very strong.

The entrance to the side of the castle, the entrance to the dungeons, was closer to her chambers than to go through the front doors. She used these, intent on getting into her room and into a warm bath as soon as possible. She stomped angrily down the hallway muttering to herself and right past Snape's open office door.

"Hermione?" he called, getting up from her desk. She paused and spun around to face him. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Ronald Weasley is a right bastard!" she spat. He smirked a little.

"Yes, I have suspected as much for a long time, now," he agreed. She smiled, despite herself. "You look terrible, did you walk here?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said.

"That was stupid," he commented. "Come on, I have brandy in my office, it will warm you right up." Hermione had vowed that very morning to never drink again, but she so wanted to be warm and a stiff drink sound like just the remedy for seething resentment.

"All right," she said. He had a fire in his office, too, and she moved to stand near it. He pulled the bottle of brandy out of a desk drawer along with two glasses and poured her a finger. She looked at him pointedly and he added a bit more. She accepted the glass with a grateful smile and took a drink. It burned a little, going down, but it caused a pleasant warmth to spread through her belly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Not in the slightest," she said. "But thank you. What did you do today?"

"Napped, mostly, I suppose. I read a bit," he said. "Mostly I…" But he paused, and shook his head.

"What?" she pressed. He looked at her in the dark room with only the small fire to light them. She looked flushed and disheveled and he thought it was endearing.

"Mostly I waited for you to return," he said. She couldn't help but smile softly.

"Well I'm here, now," she said. "What shall we do?"

"Nothing," he said, extinguishing the fire with his wand. "Let's just find someplace warm to sit." This sounded like a good idea and she suddenly realized how tired she was.

"Let's," she said and simply let him lead her wherever he wanted to go. Where he wanted to go, apparently, were his personal chambers guarded not by a portrait but by two suits of armor (not jinxed to spray water, she hoped) who held their swords together in front of a door. Severus didn't even say a password and she assumed they recognized him, for they parted when he and Hermione approached. He waved his wand at the handle and she heard the lock unclick. Inside was simple, much like her own quarters. There was furniture, his brown leather, and a writing desk filled with rolls of parchment and quills and other sorts of odds and ends. The draperies were closed against the night sky.

Snape lit the fire with his wand and the sconces along the walls lit as well. The apartment seemed more inviting with light. She saw through an open door that his rooms had a mini-library as well, or at least a spare room that he filled with books. But Hermione was filled with a warm buzz due to company and alcohol equally and she ignored the room of books and the hidden treasures she might find there.

"Sit, please," he said and she perched on the sofa. He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a throw blanket to hand to her. "So you aren't chilled anymore," he said and she murmured her thanks while she wrapped it around her shoulders. It was a brown tartan and it smelled of cedar. He sat down next to her and handed her a book. He had one for himself and she looked at the cover.

"Pride and Prejudice?" she asked, with a laugh. "You own this?"

"I thought that's what all well-bred English women loved to read," he said. "The Muggle-borns, anyway. I just tried to pick out something you would like."

"Oh, I like it, and have read it many times," she assured him. "It just tickles me that the dour potions master, Slytherin head of house, would own anything Jane Austen, but especially Pride and Prejudice." She cocked her head to one-side. "You aren't unlike Mr. Darcy, in a way."

"And are you so far from the hard-headed Lizzy Bennet?" he asked.

"I don't want to read, Severus," she said, suddenly. He put his book on the coffee table and took the novel from her hands.

"Then we won't," he said.

"Why did you stay?" she asked.

"Stay?" he asked.

"At Hogwarts, why ever did you stay here and furthermore, why did you accept the title of deputy headmaster?"

"I accepted the promotion because Minerva asked and she can be rather tiresome until she gets her way. As for staying at Hogwarts, well, what else would I have done?" he asked.

"You could have done anything, I expect," she said.

"That isn't true. My name may be clear of any crime, but I am still the man who killed Albus Dumbledore and that doesn't look good on a résumé," he said, bitterly. She reached out and put her hand on top of his. He looked at the pale of his skin next to her tan skin and sighed, a long, slow sigh.

"You did what you had to do," she said. "We all understand that."

"Well, all that is behind us now anyway," he said, clearing his throat pointedly. "That man is my master no longer." Hermione wasn't sure if he was talking about Voldemort or Dumbledore and she didn't ask. She moved to pull her hand away but he turned his hand so it was palm up and wrapped his long fingers around hers. "I hope you do not think ill of me for all of that, no more than usual, I mean."

"No," she said, her eyes crinkling at the corner with her smile. "No more than usual."

"Cheeky," he said, and his hand tightened around hers.

"I should let you have your evening back," she said.

"You are my evening, Hermione," he said. "Please stay." He reached out and picked up Pride and Prejudice and handed it to her. "Read to me?"

"All right," she said and for that, he released her hand. She opened the book and cleared her throat, her hand smoothing out the page in front of her, the words ready to spring to life. "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife," she began. Snape laid his head back and closed his eyes and let her voice sooth him of all his demons, demons unspoken.

oooo

Hermione didn't remember falling asleep and she didn't remember the thud of the book hitting the ground by her feet. She didn't remember curling up into the space the sofa provided and she didn't remember Snape gathering her into his arms so her head was on his chest. When she opened her eyes, she saw Snape's socked feet sticking out from under the blanket and hanging over the arm of the couch they didn't quite fit on. She was curled enough to be comfortable, but the realization that she'd fallen asleep on the couch of Professor Severus Snape, a man she'd made no promises to, a man she barely knew, when all was said and done.

She wondered how to get herself off the couch and out of his arms without waking him. Snape's breath was deep and even and when she shifted slightly to try to get the blood to start flowing into her arm once more, he shifted slightly and tightened his grasp on her.

She would have been mortified, had she not been so thrilled. She thought back to the surge of excitement kissing him on the cheek the night before had given her and it was nothing compared to the exhilaration that filled her now. She knew it would be easy to tilt her head and press her mouth to his slightly open one. To slide her tongue against his, to press her entire body against his entire body – a bold way to say good morning for certain.

Instead, a knock to the wooden door startled them both and Snape sat up straight, and in doing so, caused Hermione to tumble off the couch and land on the hard floor with an unattractive, "Oomph!"

"Severus, wake up!" Hermione rubbed her elbow as she heard McGonagall's shrill voice from the other side of the door.

"Sorry," Snape said, looking down at her, and reaching out his hand to pull her up.

"It's fine," she said. He looked a little groggy as he went to the door and opened it enough to stick his head out. "What the hell do you want, woman?" he snarled.

"Hermione Granger is missing!" she heard and Hermione was suddenly very confused. She looked down at herself. Nope, she was there.

"What?" asked Snape.

"Missing! She left 12 Grimmauld Place last night after dinner and she isn't in her rooms, she isn't with the Potters and she isn't at the Burrow. She could be anywhere by now, it's been hours!" McGonagall said.

"Hermione isn't missing," Severus said, running his hand over his face. He opened the door more widely and Hermione gave a timid wave as the Headmistress came into view.

"Oh. Oh! Oh," McGonagall said. "Well, my, we were just worried, dear," she said, blushing and stepping back from Snape's doorway. "But here you are! Molly will be so… relieved."

"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm sorry to have given you such a fright."

"No bother, dear, no bother. I'll leave you to it, then," she said and hurried away.

"She used to seem so regal," Hermione said. "Is it the feeling of control, being in charge of Hogwarts that makes them all so meddlesome?"

"I don't know," Snape said. "I'm so sorry."

"It's hardly your fault; I'm the one who left unannounced," she said, wringing her hands.

"You're a grown witch, did they think you were kidnapped?" he asked. They both chuckled uneasily.

"Too right," she said. "Well, it's quite early, I imagine. I will… I will see you later. Thank you for the company." And Hermione did something she rarely did, but had now done twice in twenty-four hours. She fled.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione felt shaky. She felt like she couldn't hold her hands steady as she turned on the taps to her bathtub. The water came out hot, hot enough so that she could barely stand to submerge her body. The hotter, the better, she thought.

She thought about Professor Snape, the man who taught her and she thought about the Severus she knew now and the picture didn't make sense. It was like two different people. Oh, some of the traits were still the same – his hair still hung limply after a long day toiling over cauldrons and his clothes were always black and crisply white. He was still caustic and sarcastic and terrible in social situations. He was still a Slytherin. But in some ways, he was radically different, and it made her wonder if some handsome prince had come and polyjucied himself into Snape to whisk her away.

She almost laughed out loud at that.

"Maybe he's just been lonely for long enough," she said out loud, massaging a bar of soap in her hands to create lather. It sounded almost true. There were plenty of witches his age who would be better suited for him, that would create much less tension within their social circle. She remember him clearly (Hermione remember everything clearly) saying, "You are my evenings," and she felt the blood rush to her face.

She was being swept away by Severus Snape and it was absurd. She finished her bath quickly. With a thick yellow towel wrapped around her she plaited her hair while it was still wet enough to behave and put on some clean clothes.

Professor McGonagall was in her office and Hermione was let in.

"I'm very sorry about the intrusion earlier," McGonagall said with that same false hint of cheer.

"I would like to speak to Professor Dumbledore," she said, getting right to the point. "Alone."

"Very well," McGonagall said, and stepped into the waiting area just outside the heavy oak door.

"Alone," she repeated and waited for all the other portraits of Headmasters from the past to edge slowly out of their frames, though she imagined none really left.

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked, schooling his features into a look of fatherly kindness.

"I've never really spoken to you about things other than school or the Order or Harry Potter," she said. "But now, since you're dead, I figure this couldn't hurt."

"I see you've picked up Severus's disregard for pleasantries," Dumbledore chuckled.

"You already know! You're dead and you already know what I've come to say," she said, and plopped into one of the armchairs facing his painting.

"I've suspected for a long time that Severus, for lack of a better term, fancied you," he said, stroking his beard.

"That's preposterous," she snapped. "The only person he treated worse than me is Harry. He ridiculed me for seven years straight, everything from my physical appearance to my study habits. Then I was gone for five years. How can you possibly say you've suspected for any amount of time?"

"What did the sorting hat say when you first wore it?" he asked. She was a little surprised at the abrupt change of subject.

"It said, 'Which house would you like to be in?'" she said.

"Exactly, it let you choose. It did not sort you, you sorted yourself," Dumbledore said, looking triumphant.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

"You chose Gryffindor," Dumbledore said, unhelpfully.

"I know!" she said.

"Because it was the most challenging," Dumbledore said. Hermione looked at him with slanted eyes.

"Will you make your point, please, sir?" she asked.

"Severus did the same thing." Dumbledore said.

"What?" she asked.

"He's not pureblooded, as you well know. There are not many wizards in Slytherin who aren't of pure blood. He was sorted into that house because he asked to be. The hat hardly ever lets the individual choose the house. The last person who chose their own house before you was Severus and before him? It was well before my tenure here," the old wizard said. "It was how I first came to realize that you were well suited for one another."

"Well suited," Hermione murmured. "He's been awfully… forward," she said.

"Maybe he's been lonely for long enough, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, gently. Her own words presented to her with the wisdom of over a century attached.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I miss you very much."

"It was the way it had to be," Dumbledore said. "Now, I suspect Minerva would appreciate her office back." Hermione nodded and let herself out of the office.

"Thank you," she said to McGonagall.

"I hope you got the answers you were looking for, dear," she said, patting Hermione's shoulder. Hermione didn't respond, merely descended the stone steps with quiet footfalls.

oooo

She didn't avoid him, exactly, for the next two days, she merely refused to leave her rooms and wouldn't accept visitors and didn't respond to any mail. The day after Christmas, the day of the conversation with Dumbledore's oil portrait and the day she woke up in the arms of her once professor, she took to her bed. She took off her clean clothes, undid the plait of her hair, and climbed naked into her bed. She didn't get out except to pee and once, to get a glass of cool water. She napped, she read, she cried, she thought.

The next day, she put on a bathroom and some slippers and paced around. She felt like an old, eccentric witch with too many cats – too bad Crookshanks had been a war casualty. Maybe she would get another cat, someday. Finally, on the third morning, with her hair in wild curls (though with the help of an amazing conditioner she'd found stateside, not frizzy curls), she went to breakfast. She steeled herself to see him, talked herself into not turning back the whole way, and finally made it to the great hall only to find that he didn't attend breakfast. There were a handful of students, not many had stayed behind, few rarely did, and three professors. She ate quietly, and spoke very little. She felt disappointed; she had wanted to see him.

She couldn't hide any longer with her thoughts, though, and so she went to find him. He wasn't in his office and he didn't answer the door of his chambers. He wasn't in his dungeon classroom or in the staff room. Finally, she found him in the small closet that held most of his potion stores. The door was slightly ajar and she could hear him muttering to himself. She couldn't make out the words but she could feel that he was using magic.

She pulled open the door a bit so she could see inside and saw him surrounded by tiny bottles, cleaning each shelf with his wand. Busy work, at best, the work of an apprentice but he didn't have one. He'd offered it to her, of course, but she would have to turn it down now. It would be a conflict of interest for her to be his student again. Not when she wanted him the way she suspected she did.

"Severus," she said. He stilled, his shoulder hunched, and she was relieved he didn't drop anything. Proper potions bottles were charmed to be unbreakable, but still, she didn't want to risk it. He turned around to look down at her, from atop his stepladder.

"Miss Granger," he said. "How may I help you this morning?"

Oh, he was mad. It was his right, she supposed, to be mad after she had left him so abruptly and then avoided him. She'd acted childishly.

"I didn't need anything specific," she said. "I just wanted to say… to say hello."

"Hello," he said. "I'm busy, so if that will be all." He turned back to the shelf and poked at a bit of hardened sludge with the tip of his thin, black wand.

"I deserve that," she said. "I'm sorry, things have been awkward."

"Did I stutter?" he snapped. "I'm busy."

"I'm not your student anymore!" she said, her voice cracking. "You can't order me about!" A look of guilt flitted across his features. He came down off the ladder, careful to avoid stepping on any bottles. She stepped back and they left the closet.

"You do not need to feel guilty in regards to your actions since you've returned to Hogwarts," he said. "You owe me nothing."

"I didn't come here to…" she shrugged. "I just got a little scared, but I'm done with that now and I wanted you to know that I appreciate your offer to have me as your apprentice for a master's degree in Potions, but I must decline the offer." He blanched.

"This is about the apprenticeship?" he asked.

"No! Yes, I mean, I can't be your apprentice because I would much rather be your friend," she said.

"My friend," he repeated.

"Your very good friend," she tried to clarify.

"Ahh," he said, understanding finally, and taking a step toward her. "My very good friend. I see." He reached out a hand to with two long fingers, plucked out a curl and pulled it down until it was straight. When he let it go, it sprung back up. "I have to leave the castle for a few days," he said.

"Leave?" she asked. "Why?"

"It's to see to the house," he said. "My mother's family had a manor house and when she died, it became mine. I go, once a year, to be sure it's still standing."

"I see," she said. "But you'll be back in time for new years?"

"I assure you," he said.

"When do you leave?" she asked.

"In a few hours," he said.

"All right," she said. "I'll see you when you come back."

"Goodbye," he said. She made herself not look back at him as she walked away.

oooo

While he was gone, she did not sit idle. She wrote up an article for an academic journal, something she'd done the research for as an apprentice and had never gotten around to writing. She owled it off and felt the glow of accomplishment. She went about taking down all of the Holiday decorations; taking the decorations of the tree with her wand and pulling bows off of all the staircases.

New Years Eve came and he hadn't returned. A slow tendril of worry began to uncurl in her stomach. She agreed to go to Harry and Ginny's for New Years before heading, once again to 12 Grimmauld Place. Ginny had joked that it had once been the Order's headquarters but was now party headquarters.

She wore black pants and a plain button down white shirt that her mother had mended for her. She suspected it might have been purchased originally as part of her Hogwarts uniform, but a white blouse was a white blouse and she didn't care where it had come from. She put her coat on and flooed over to Harry's flat.

The baby was already wailing when she appeared. Ginny looked exhausted and frazzled and Harry was standing in the living room with his hands over his ears.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"Charlotte has been crying all day, she has a cold, Ginny can't decide what to wear and I think I've gone insane," he said. No one ever called the baby Charlotte and Hermione knew that meant they were seriously stressed out. Hermione went into the baby's bedroom where she was crying in her crib and she picked the girl up. The crying didn't cease, but she still sat down in the rocking chair and held her and rocked her.

"She isn't hungry and she's been changed," Ginny said, popping her head into the room. "I think she's just over tired."

"It's fine, go finish getting ready," she said. "I'll watch her."

Hermione fished out her wand with her free hand and made a solid beam of light shoot out of the tip. She pointed it to the ceiling and moved it around so there was a pattern of light above Lola. The baby stilled, her cries turned to whimpers as her eyes caught sight of the light. The amused her until her parents were ready. Ginny came in to alert Hermione that they were ready to go.

As soon as the light disappeared from the ceiling, Lola burst into fresh tears. Hermione handed the baby to her mother.

"I did what I could," she said, smiling.

oooo

There were far less people for New Years than there was for Christmas, and that was okay. It was the Weasleys (Hermione had only agreed to attend when she found out that Ron would be working and not in attendance) and a few order members such as Tonks and Remus Lupin. Molly always insisted on cooking a turkey for New Years and no one stuck around much past midnight.

The house was warm and smelled like dinner and Hermione went into the kitchen to see if she could help and to maybe get herself a glass of wine.

"Hi dear, you can peel the potatoes," Molly said in greeting. Hermione was glad to have a task and stood at the sink peeling a huge pile of brown potatoes that had been scrubbed clean. She didn't hear the door open but she felt the presence behind before she felt a warm hand on the small of her back.

"Working hard, I see." His mouth was close to her ear.

"Severus!" she said, turning around and putting her arms around his neck. "You weren't back when I left but you're here! You came." He slowly put his arms around her waist and returned the hug, a little stiffly.

"I said that I would be back in time for New Years," he murmured. Suddenly self-conscious of Molly watching them unabashedly, she stepped back.

"How was your trip?" she asked, turning back to the sink.

"Fine," he said. "Can I help?"

"Sure," she said. "There's a knife on the cutting board; quarter the potatoes and put them in that pot on the stove."

"Yes, Professor," he said, smirking.

"Shush," she said, continuing the peeling. "And how was the house?"

"I ought to sell it, before it falls down completely," he said. "Or at least donate it to some charity and get the tax deduction."

"Does it have any sentimental value?" she asked, peeling the last potato. He cut the potatoes with a precision of a master, his knife moved with quick, sharp slices.

"No," he said. "None." She didn't press.

"I have this all under control," Molly said. "Why don't you two go catch up," Hermione knew when she was being thrown out of the kitchen so she took her wine glass and left the kitchen without complain, walking through the door that Snape held open for her. Inside, people were standing around chatting and someone had put some music on. It was old fashioned and sappy, so she suspected that someone was probably Molly Weasley. Harry and Ginny danced, though, and it was sweet.

"Let's go to the library," Hermione said. "It's the only room of this old house I actually like."

"It will be quiet and empty at least," he agreed. They sat down on one of the dusty loveseats, facing the cold fireplace, but neither cared to light it. "I read your article," he said.

"What?" she asked. "Really?"

"The issue just came out, yesterday I believe," he said.

"Why do you subscribe to a charms journal?" she asked.

"I get all sorts of journals," he said. "I'm very well read, you know."

"I never thought any different. What did you think of it?" she asked.

"Very well written. You've proven yourself as a valuable researcher," he said.

"Thank you," she said. They lapsed into silence. "Severus, I wanted to apologize again for what happened."

"No need," he said.

"I don't mean… I don't mean falling asleep with you, I mean running away afterward," she said.

"Ah."

"I've gotten used to being alone and the prospect of that changing was too much," she continued.

"Hermione, please," he said, stopping her, holding his hand up in the air. "I've made you uncomfortable, and I'll go."

"No," she said. "I'm not saying this right." He looked at his lap and she reached out her hand to touch his knee. "I like you."

"A miracle," he acknowledged. "I should have treated you better while you were my student."

"Mr. Darcy treated Elizabeth badly at first. Do you like me despite my inferior birth, my lack of money, my unpardonable friends, my Muggle family?" she asked.

"Hermione," he said. "This isn't a novel. Things will be hard."

"Things have always been hard, Severus," she said, scoffing. "I can barely remember a time when things were easy." He reached out his hand to touch the side of her face affectionately. She let her eyes close. His hand was warm and soft against her and she tilted her head against him.

"You're right, as always," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

She was certain he was going to kiss her.

The door opened.

"Here they are," Fred called down the stairs.

"Dinner's ready," George said.

"It looks like we've interrupted," Fred whispered, backing slowly out of the doorway, bumping into his twin. Severus stood, turning on his heel, and glowered at the twins.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mr. Weasley," he said, his voice loud and angry and to his credit both the twins flinched and looked afraid.

"You're welcome, sir," they said in unison and ran down the stairs.

"Come along," Snape said and offered her his hand to help her out of the loveseat. She accepted it and he pulled her up. Together, they went downstairs to dinner. All conversation stopped when they came in but Snape pulled out Hermione's chair for her and then sat down him self.

"Dinner looks lovely, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said.

"Thank you, dear," she said. The ice was broken, and normal conversation ensued. Snape, however, did not participate. Midnight was slow in coming and when the moment did arrive, Hermione felt it was anti-climactic compared to the rest of the evening. She and Snape left soon after, flooing back to Hogwarts together. He walked her to her rooms.

"I had a lovely time," Hermione said, wishing desperately that he wouldn't go.

"It was tolerable, at moments," he said.

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and she murmured her password to get in. It was only after the removal of coats that she remembered there wasn't anything to offer him besides tap water in a glass.

"I don't have anything," she said. "Would you like me to call an elf?"

"No," he said, stepping close to her. "Don't bother with any of it." And with that, he leaned down and kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

Kissing Severus was not at all what she expected it to be. She could feel the slight stubble on his chin; the sweat on his palms where they'd slipped under her shirt and pressed to the small of her back. He was obviously nervous; he was holding her so tightly, as if he felt like she was liable to run, despite the fact that she was kissing him back.

How long had they been standing there? Her lips felt numb and her knees a little wobbly. She needed air and she needed to sit down but he showed no signs of stopping and his tongue was warm and wet and spicy against hers. She put her hand between them and pulled her head back.

"Wait," she said.

"No," he growled and captured her lips once more. Her knees finally buckled but this did not detour him. His arm around her waist caught most of her weight and he maneuvered them to the couch. When his mouth moved to her neck, to taste the skin there and mark it with his teeth, she was free to speak again.

"Severus," she said, and though it was meant to get his attention, it came out as a groan that only spurred him on further. His fingers were insistent and searching, wrapping around her waist, tangling in her hair, unfastening the lower buttons on her blouse.

"Please," she said, stilling his busy fingers by grabbing onto his wrists.

"I'm sorry," he said, breathless. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to do something regretful," she said. "I really like you."

Hermione, of course, was neither virginal nor inexperienced. She'd had the same awkward fumbling in her school years that most of her peers had – first with Viktor, later with Ron, and one drunken kiss with Harry Potter (they'd immediately burst into laughter afterward and promised never to do so again). Her social life in California had been lacking, at best. She'd had a few one-night stands, grown out of late nights at the American bars, but those had always been Muggle men – she'd been wary about mixing work with pleasure. Now this wariness returned.

"I'm sorry," Snape said, for a third time.

"Don't be," she said. "But if this doesn't work, I'll have to leave Hogwarts, I just think we need to understand that."

"You don't do things badly, Hermione, why would this be any different?" he asked.

"I do many, many things badly," she said, laughing.

"Not this," he assured her. "Not this."

oooo

Snape left, he went back to his rooms and left Hermione to refasten the three buttons of her blouse that he'd undone, trembling. She smoothed her hair and her wrinkled clothes and paced the length of the area rug, trying to calm her boiling blood. Sending him away had been hard but she still though it was the right thing to do. Finally, even though her mind was racing and her nerves singing, she removed all of her clothes and got into bed without pajamas. She tossed and turned and did not sleep.

Snape did not sleep either. He took to wandering the halls of the castle, prowled around every floor, checked the Slytherin common room, made sure the few students there were in bed and finally ended up in the kitchen, ignoring the elves who hopped around hoping to serve, and drank a butter beer on a rickety stool at the wooden table. He didn't want hard alcohol dulling his senses and clouding his thoughts. For the first time, he wanted to feel every emotion surging through him.

He'd lost control for a moment there, he'd let the wanting take over and she'd been right to stop him, right to slow their frenzied pace. It had been too long since he'd felt wanted – not just for his academic status, his dark power, his infamy.

Hermione had known him at his cruelest, at his best, and at his very lowest point and she still kissed him back.

Morning was a long time in coming for both of them. It was the last day before the children returned for spring term. Snape walked back toward his rooms, stiffly; he was exhausted. He didn't see Hermione coming toward him until she was right there, looking at him.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

"Nor I," he said.

"Dobby told me you were in the kitchens," she admitted.

"You were looking for me?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she said again.

"Poppy would give you a draught, if you asked," he suggested.

"I couldn't sleep alone," she whispered. His heart leapt and he put his hand on the small of her back and with the gentlest of pressure, led her to his bedroom.

The armor parted, and his bed was big and soft. He pulled back the covers and let her climb in first. Once in bed, he positioned her until her head was on his chest and their bodies were flush and they slept all day.

It was dark when Snape woke. There were slivers of light from the stars, from a lit candle in a far room, from the reflection of the moon off the mirror in the bathroom; the door was ajar.

Hermione was still sleeping hard. Her breathing was deep and even and hot against his neck. Her hair covered her pillow and half of his. Her skin was pale in the almost light and he was afraid that vulnerable and relaxed, she would look like the child he once knew, but she just looked like a sleeping woman. Young, no doubt, nearly half his age, but a woman in her own right.

"Severus," she said, stirring. She could feel his eyes on her.

"Yes?"

"Why did you choose Slytherin?" she asked.

"What?"

"Professor Dumbledore's portrait said that we both got to choose our own houses and I'm curious as to why you chose Slytherin?" The question was long and well worded but heavy and slurred with sleep.

"Where else could I have gone?" he asked.

"Ravenclaw," she said. "You could have been a Ravenclaw."

"We all have our destinies," he said. "You could have been a Ravenclaw too, you know."

"The choice seemed so clear at the time," she said. "So clear."

"And now?"

"Houses don't mean what I thought they did," she said. "It's just a bed, just a patch on a heavy cloak." She shifted, stretched like a cat. The t-shirt she'd thrown on to find him was too big and left a shoulder exposed. He lowered his head to lick it. This time, she didn't protest. This time, there wasn't such a thing as going too far.

oooo

Everyone seemed to know about their relationship. The children all returned, already knowing some how. Hermione remembered how it was, how the gossip spread. She'd been a part of it, once. She imagined someone who'd been at the New Years party had told someone who'd told someone who had a child who attended the school. And that child, a Slytherin perhaps, had told everyone, everyone who had ears to listen with.

No one seemed to mind though, and if they did, they kept it to themselves. As Hermione heard it from some of the older students, the general consensus was that Professor Snape in a relationship was a good thing. He'd become more tolerable after the fall of Voldemort, but hardly more kind. Perhaps having a girlfriend would improve his disposition some. Hermione and Snape didn't inform anyone, though, and no one spoke to them about it. They did not hold hands in the corridors or neck in sunny courtyards. The most people could say about them was that they were often seen conversing and one of the Hufflepuffs, Felix Fastwater, swore that he saw Snape smile at her once. But most people believed that was just a rumor.

oooo

Hermione kept her quarters though she slept nearly every night in Snape's bed from that night on. She kept several books on his coffee table and a hairbrush on his sink. The dirty clothes she put in his laundry were returned clean and pressed to his rooms. Eventually, the majority of her clothes hung in his closet next to his black robes and white shirts.

Hermione liked to wake up late on Sunday mornings, to skip the first meal of the day and read a thick book in bed. She liked to drink spicy tea and eat fresh bread with butter and get crumbs on Snape's sheets. He would get up early and sit in the other room and wait for her to come out draped in his bathrobe or one of his shirts; her hair mussed and her cheeks red from the warmth of the bed and the sun.

Hermione would watch him for a moment and then walk over to him and slide into the chair he already occupied, letting her legs hang over one of the arms of the chair, her neck rested against his shoulder. He had a lap full of her.

"Good morning," he would say, amused at the cat-like behavior. She tended not to respond and he would rest his hand on her naked thigh, letting gravity draw his hand down, down along the smooth skin until he met her center. He liked to make her squirm on Sunday mornings.

oooo

Summer came. It was perfectly in Hermione's rights to stay in the castle for the summer. Hermione broached the subject with some trepidation. She owed her parents a visit; she owed Harry and Ginny several weekends and at least a night of babysitting their growing girl. But the number of nights she and Snape had spent apart she could count on one hand. Spending several months away would most likely devastate her. She would not sleep. She would lay awake listless and hollow.

"What do you do in the summers?" she asked, straining to make her voice light.

"Brew," he said. "Write up my experiments. Albus always said I should travel but I never have."

"Ah,"

"Hermione," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"About you," she said. "I worry I am always on the edge of outstaying my welcome."

"The summer will come," he said. "But it is just another season. The children board the train, but we do not."

"We stay here together?" she asked.

"Together," he confirmed. "But only if it makes you happy."

She thought that it did.

oooo

In her second year of teaching, her period came two days late. It came, but the two days of waiting had stripped her nerves raw. She snapped at Snape, pushed his gentle hands away and rejected his offer of tea and platitudes.

In the bathroom with spots of dark blood on her knickers, she burst into tears – loud wracking sobs that made Snape throw the door open in alarm. He saw her sitting on the toilet with her pants around her knees and he stopped, wary of embarrassing her and himself.

"What happened?" he asked, finally. She just cried. "Hermione," he said and she wriggled until her pants came free; slid them across the loo floor. He saw the red, stark against the white cotton and his mouth became a thin line.

"I was late," she explained, ripping some toilet paper off the role and blowing her nose.

"But it came," he pointed out. Her tears did not slow.

"I know!" she said.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked, at a loss.

"Get out," she said. "Just go." He wandered out, dazed, closing the door behind him. She came out of the bathroom later, to apologize.

"I thought that you would leave me," she said. "If there was a baby, you would go. I was just relieved to see the blood."

"You're lying," he said. "Why?"

"I'm not."

"You're a _terrible_ liar," he said.

"Well," she said. "We don't even know what we are, do we? Am I your girlfriend? Maybe, except I'm not fourteen anymore. Do we love each other? If we do, we haven't said it out loud. We've been together almost a year but what does that mean when I'm always so scared you'll snap out of your kindness toward me and send me away." Her voice betrayed her misery.

"Oh," he said. "Oh."

"Oh?" she said. "What does that mean?"

"It means…" he cocked his head, changing tactics. "I would be a fool to ever leave you."

"Will you ever leave me?" she asked. "Because if you're going to, please do it now."

"I can't," he said. "I can't leave you."

"Do you love me?" she demanded.

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"And what if it never came, Severus? What if a baby came instead?" She was desperate for knowledge, desperate for his thoughts.

"Then I would marry you," he said. This stopped her. Her mouth hung open limply, unattractively. One of his fingers pushed her chin up. He kissed her. "Did I surprise you?"

"I love you, too," she said. "Does that surprise you?" She could see that it did.

Hermione's sense of relief was palpable. She felt as if their first hurdle as a couple had been cleared. She felt free.


	6. Chapter 6

Though, it wasn't as if she was expecting a ring and that was a good thing for in the weeks following their conversation, Snape did not produce one. Hermione merely took comfort in the fact that a drastic turn in their relationship would bring them closer, not wedge them apart.

She'd mentioned, casually, her relationship with Snape in a few letters to her parents. She'd said that she'd been seeing someone but she didn't name names and didn't, of course, admit that he'd once been her professor, once been a man she'd thoroughly disliked. Still, her mother was someone who knew her best and could read in Hermione's letters what her daughter wasn't writing. Hermione tried to never lie to her parents flat out, but she often omitted the truth and finally, Hermione's parents asked to meet this new man who Hermione had been 'kind of' seeing for a year and a half.

Hermione wasn't sure how to approach Severus with this request. He had only spoken of his parents to her once, though Hermione knew about them somewhat. She'd figured out about Eileen Prince and the potions textbook in her sixth year. Hermione didn't talk much about her family either. They were Muggle and lived in a different world than their daughter. Hermione wrote the obligatory letters and saw them for a few days in the summer, but they were becoming, in some ways, strangers. Hermione didn't know if this saddened her or not. It just was. Still, her parents were her parents and they loved her and if they wanted to meet Severus Snape, then she would try to make it so.

"Severus?" she asked, poking her head into his office. It was Thursday night, the Thursday before the last Hogsmeade weekend of the winter term, and he was sitting at his desk with tea and scrolls of parchments. He looked tired and busy and it was the first time she'd seem him since they'd woken up that morning. She's seen him at the meals of course, but he sat several seats away, next to Minerva and she sat with Professor Flitwick, listening to him pontificate on the importance of teaching the older children defensive charms even though the threat of Voldemort had passed.

"What?" he snapped, and looked up. Seeing her, though, his face softened. "Hello," he said. "Come in."

"I was thinking of staying in my rooms tonight, letting you get a leg up on your grading," she offered.

"Nonsense," he said. He didn't like to be away from her. He liked to sleep with his long, lean leg over her body, pinning her down, with his nose pressed against her shoulder. He liked to always be touching her. It took her awhile to learn to sleep with someone always wrapped around her, but now when she slept alone, she tossed and turned.

"All right," she conceded, pleased. "Will you be coming home soon, then?"

"In a few hours, perhaps," he murmured, dipping the dull end of his quill into the pot of red ink. He needed to sharpen it, but never did. His usually spidery writing came out blunt and round.

"I was hoping to speak to you about something," she said. He sighed and set his quill down. "It can wait until you're finished."

"No, let's talk about it now because I'm just going to be wondering what it's about until it drives me mad," he said.

"Well," she said, "My parents have invited us to have dinner with them this weekend." There was no use lying to him or hedging around the subject. He appreciated directness.

"Have they?" he said. "I wasn't aware you'd told them about me."

"I have," she said. "I've told them some things," she amended.

"I see. You've told them that you've been seeing your ex-professor who occasionally asks you to put on your old head girl uniform so he can shag her senseless?" The blush was immediately and she even dipped her head.

"I have not told them that, and that was only once," she said.

"So far," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Stop!" she giggled, "Will you go?"

"I suppose, if it is what you want," he said. "No go away, I'm very busy."

She closed the office door behind her, wondering where that old uniform had got off to.

oooo

Her parents had offered to cook but Hermione had asked to go out. She thought that her parents wouldn't go making a scene in public though she didn't really think her conservative doctor parents would throw a fit, whether it be in public or private. Her dad might cough into his napkin and her mother would make a sucking noise with her teeth, but they wouldn't, at least, throw anything.

There was the small set back of Snape's age but that was easily explained away with a wizard's longer lifespan. Snape himself, while somewhat jolting in appearance, was always kind to Hermione and an intellectual match. It was only the idea of Hermione seeing a former Professor that would irk her parents. They already distrusted Hogwarts; it had involved their daughter in war.

"Just don't tell them you were once my professor," she said, for the third time, running her hands over his Muggle shirt, smoothing the wrinkles that weren't there.

"It's going to come up," he said. "You know it will."

"Well you don't have to be the one to bring it up, do you?" she fretted. He rolled his eyes and put on a long coat that was an old cloak transfigured. It would, at least, last the evening before reverting back. She was all ready and together, on a dark Saturday night, they walked unnoticed to the gates of the school where they could apparate.

The restaurant Hermione chose was purposefully near Diagon Alley so that they could walk from their apparation point. Hermione wore a black dress, simple but nice for the restaurant and the season. Her heels made her taller but she didn't approach Snape's height. He was so willowy.

They arrived at the restaurant first. Hermione had been nervous about being late and now they were almost 15 minutes early. The restaurant was nice, Italian, and they were seated. Snape ordered a bottle of red wine while they waited – he thought a little alcohol would relax them.

"Maybe we should have waited outside," she said, glancing over her shoulder to the door.

"Nonsense," Snape said. "Out in the cold?" She didn't respond and he reached across the table to touch her hand. "Why are you so worried?"

"Because… I've never brought anyone home to meet my parents before. Not anyone I've been involved with… romantically," she admitted. He raised his eyebrow and looked past her. He could tell immediately that it was her parents who walked in – Hermione looked just like her father and had her mother's build.

"That's them," he said. She turned around.

"Yes," she said, and they both stood. Hermione smiled and hugged them. Hermione could see her parents look over Snape but their smiles never faltered. Mr. Granger reached out to shake Snape's hand – more a Muggle custom than wizard, but Snape gladly obliged. Introductions were made and the four were seated. Snape poured them a glass of wine and her mother accepted it though she rarely drank. Hermione didn't know whether or not to take this as a good sign.

"You teach at the school as well, do you Mr. Snape?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Snape said. "I teach potions. I am also the deputy headmaster."

"What's good here, daddy?" Hermione asked, not wanting the conversation to progress further in that direction.

"Everything, dear," he said. "How long have you and Hermione known each other?" Snape was not flustered by the direct questions.

"About thirteen years," he said. "Give or take a few months." Hermione picked up her wine glass and brought it swiftly to her lips. Snape refilled it smoothly.

"I remember hearing about you, I believe," her mother said. "I thought you didn't care for him, dear." This was directed at Hermione.

"People change, Mum," she said.

"Is it… normal in your world for teachers to date their students, Mr. Snape?" her father asked – it was the question Hermione had been dreading but she was the only flustered one at the table. Why were they all so calm?

"No," Snape said. "Hermione is a colleague, now. To be frank, I didn't much care for her either for most of the years I instructed her."

The waiter came and Hermione pointed at her menu blindly, not really caring what it was that she ordered. Her parents weren't the type to admonish either of them in public and so the conversation changed – teaching, dentistry, politics. Still, Hermione feared she'd get an angry letter in the morning. She was thankful her parents couldn't send howlers.

"You're being paranoid," Snape said, later, back in his rooms.

"I don't think so," she said.

"I was very honest and charming," he said. "I spoke very highly of you."

"You did," she agreed. She didn't sleep much anyway; she tossed and worried and ground her teeth. Snape slept badly as well by no fault of his own.

oooo

Snape convinced Hermione to stay in on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. They'd both been invited to 12 Grimmauld Place for two full days of celebration but Snape didn't feel the need to go to everything.

"We'll go to Christmas dinner," he promised. She'd been feeling a little tired anyway – fighting the flu that had been going around and so she agreed with little protest.

Christmas morning, she'd realized looking at all the packages that she had splurged of Severus. She'd gotten him new black boots, a knitted scarf in midnight blue (so dark it was almost black, but not quite so he would probably never wear it), a text book he'd been eyeing at the bookstore, and some other odds and ends. From him, she only had one, smallish package. She tried not to judge. Snape was still sleeping so she fixed him his tea and brought it to him like she did every morning.

"It's Christmas," she said, touching his shoulder. "Severus."

"Just another day," he slurred into his pillow. "Go away and let me sleep."

"I brought you tea," she said. She ignored his venomous tongue – he was always grumpy in the mornings. "The elves brought you those apricot scones you like." He opened one eye.

"With the icing?" he asked, gruffly.

"Yep. Smells fresh," she said, rubbing his back.

"Very well," he said. "I'll be out in a minute." She set his tea on the nightstand and went back to the sitting room. He came out with clean teeth and his bathrobe on. His tea was half gone.

"Good morning," she tried again. "Happy Christmas."

"Mmm," he said, which was an improvement over 'go away.' They ate without much talk. Snape really was fond of those scones; he ate three.

"Harry said he was keeping our gifts hostage at the house so we were sure to come to dinner," she said lightly. "But we do have the ones from each other."

"Excited?" he asked, wiping the crumbs out of his three days worth of stubble.

"You aren't?" she asked. "You are, I can tell. Open this one first," she said, putting the scarf in his lap. It took him a while to get through his excessive pile.

"You're much too good for me," he said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. "Open yours." She took the small, silver package into her hands excitedly. It was light in her hand but that meant nothing – space was often very deceptive in the wizarding world. She removed the paper and opened the plain white box. Her heart lodged into her throat. "You don't like it?" he asked, immediately.

"It's quite beautiful," she said. It was a necklace. The chain was fine and delicate and hung from it was a large, square cut diamond. It was simple and elegant and probably horrendously expensive. He helped her put it on and it was warm against her skin. "Is it magical?" she asked.

"A few protection spells," he said. "To protect the wearer and to guard against theft."

"I love it, I do," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, kissing her neck where the ornament now hung. He kissed her ear and then her mouth. "Let's go back to bed." She let him lead her back into the bedroom. He removed her clothes carefully and left the necklace on. She wouldn't ever remove it.

oooo

Lola was walking already, babbling half words, and called every animal 'cat.' Occasionally, she showed the first signs of magic. Everyone thought she would be a great power when she came of age since she could already do basic spells (unintentionally) at the age of two. Most hilariously, however, was her fondness for Snape. As soon as she spotted the tall, dark man, she would squeal with delight and hurry over to him. As soon as they arrived for the later Christmas festivities, Lola ran unsteadily to him and raised her arms.

"Up," she said. Everyone thought this development was terribly amusing except for Snape and, unsurprisingly, Ron Weasley. Still, Snape obliged the small girl and picked her up. She sighed contentedly and Hermione thought her own heart would burst from the cuteness.

Ron and Hermione did not speak unless absolutely necessary and then it was only, "excuse me" or "pass the salt." He'd blown his temper past the point of reconciliation when he'd found out about Hermione's relationship with Snape and now everyone just got alone better if Ron and Hermione pretended one another didn't exist. Now, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, glowering from across the room. He didn't like Snape having a closer relationship with his niece than he did but Ginny and Ron weren't on the best of terms either. Every conversation they attempted ended up with him calling her a traitor and her yelling at him to grow up. Hermione hoped it would all some day blow over.

"Hi dear," Mrs. Weasley kissed Hermione's cheek. "Dinner is just about on."

"Take her," Severus pleaded but Hermione just shook her head and laughed a tinkling laugh.

"Look how happy she is!" Hermione said. Lola had rested her head on his shoulder and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Her eyes were getting heavy. Her dark red hair was put into pigtails and was rich in color against his black shoulder.

"I hope our child doesn't become this attached to me," he grumbled and the room grew quiet as every one stopped their conversation to listen to Snape. He realized his mistake immediately.

"Are you?" Harry asked, looking back and forth between Hermione and Snape curiously.

"No," Hermione said. "No, he was just talking." She glanced at him and his face was frozen, emotionless. He handed her the baby and she took the girl who watched Snape stalk up the stairs with a whimper of protest. When he slammed a door upstairs, Lola began to cry. Ginny came over quietly and took her daughter from Hermione who couldn't stop looking at the empty staircase, her mouth agape.

"Let him cool off," Remus said, coming over. "Come on, I'll get you a glass of water."

"We've only talked about it once, and not even for very long. I just had no idea he thought about that sort of thing," she said, letting Remus guide her to the bar that was set up.

"On second thought, let's get you a drink." he said, pouring her something stiff. She waved the dark liquid away.

"I'm fine, really," she said. "Just surprised."

"He's been far more pleasant since you've been together, Hermione. He loves you," Remus said.

"I know," she said.

"You make him happy," he reminded her.

"I hope that I do," she said.

"Still, I think he needs to take baby steps," he paused. "No pun intended." She rolled her eyes, changed her mind, and took the drink.

Snape didn't come down to dinner and she didn't go up to retrieve him. She ate quickly and made him a plate. While the others were resting after eating so much or cleaning up the mess, she carried the food upstairs. Only one door was closed and she knocked gently, but didn't wait for an answer before she opened the door.

"Hey," she said. "I brought you some warm food."

"If you've finished, I think we should leave," he said.

"Severus," she said.

"They're all making stupid jokes at my expense, I'm sure," he snapped.

"No one is doing that," she said. "You should come down. You have gifts."

"I don't care about that."

She tried changing tactics.

"Ginny thought my necklace was lovely. She said that Harry's never given her anything like that before," she said.

"Except for a daughter," he mumbled.

"Severus what is wrong with you?" she asked, setting the plate down and sitting next to him on an old loveseat. "If you have something you want to share with me, I suggest doing it."

"Are you happy, Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I am. Are you?"

"Yes," he said. "I want to give you everything!" She reached out and touched his face.

"I don't need you to give me anything. I just want you to be there for me," she said. "If I'm not happy, rest assured that I'll inform you."

"I've never wanted children," he said.

"Shocking," she joked.

"Until you," he finished. "I want to make something with you that will last, that will make a difference."

"Oh," she said, leaning forward to kiss him. "Someday we will." He reached into his robes and pulled out a small ring.

"This is what I wanted to give you this morning and I was too scared," he said. She looked down at the ring – the same gold and diamond combo that matched her necklace.

"Is that an engagement ring?" she asked, carefully.

"Marry me," he said. "Please," he added, not wanting it to sound like an order.

"What?" she asked.

"I think that we should get married," he said. She stared at him. The ring sat in his palm and she picked it up between to fingers and inspected it.

"You're serious?" she said.

"Deadly," he said. She smiled at him, feeling rather shy.

"All right," she said. He smiled and practically jammed the ring onto her finger. It warmed and then contracted to fit her finger. She loved magic. "Thank you," she said.

"You're thanking me?" he asked.

"When you first… when we first… when you first started to pursue me," she said, unsure of what exactly she was trying to say, "I never thought that you actually, oh, I don't know, liked me. I thought that perhaps I was familiar or comfortable or that you wanted to sleep with me."

"Hermione…"

"No, let me finish," she said. "You're a sweet talker. I know, you, but you are! You always know just the right thing to say but I always feel like you're about to leave me because I love you and I don't ever want you to go."

"Now do you believe that I want to stay?" he asked.

"I think it's beginning to sink in," she said, laughing.

"Can we just apparate home now?" he asked.

"That's terribly rude," she said. "No."

"Tell them I'm sick. Tell them I went home vomiting and feverish," he pleaded. She wrinkled her nose.

"No. Besides, while the men downstairs won't notice anything, for the women, this engagement ring is going to light up like a neon sign," she said.

"You could remove it," he said.

"Never," she said. "You're stuck with me now, Mr. Snape."

"Good," he said. "Mrs. Snape."

"Not yet," she said. "Let's go."

Downstairs they tried to escape without chaos. Hermione immediately pulled Ginny into the closest vacant room with a door (it happened to be the loo and they received some odd looks) to show her the ring.

"Don't go making a fuss," she said, holding her hand out. Ginny's eyes grew and her mouth opened.

"You got a necklace and a ring and a husband all in one day?" she asked, her voice tinged with jealousy.

"Fiancé," Hermione corrected. "But, yes."

"It's very pretty," Ginny said. "You're going to marry PROFESSOR SNAPE."

"I know," she said. "Who would have ever thought this was how it was going to turn out?"

"I wonder if he lusted after you when you were Head Girl. How naughty," she said. "All those plaid skirts…" Hermione started blushing brightly and Ginny stopped talking. "Ew. Please never tell me."

"Okay," Hermione agreed. "Anyway, you know, tell everyone but if Severus asks, tell him you kept my confidence."

"I'm a female Gryffindor, you think I can't spread gossip?" Ginny asked. "Congratulations, Hermione."

"Thanks Gin," she said. They hugged and a knock at the door broke them apart.

"I have to pee!" Tonks' voice floated through the door and both women started laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

If anything, Snape wanted a small, non-descript ceremony. But it wasn't to be, because as soon as Ginny told her mother about the impending wedding, Mrs. Weasley took out an announcement in the Daily Prophet. Hermione always woke up first and read the paper over her first cup of tea before bringing Snape his. She flipped idly through the pages reading headlines and the first few paragraphs of articles that looked interesting. She didn't know what made her look at the section of the paper that held birth, death, and wedding announcements – it wasn't a section she usually read. Still, she flipped to that section and her name practically leapt out at her. She brought the paper close to her face, in horror.

_"Severus Snape, Deputy Headmaster and Potions Master and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is engaged to marry Hermione Granger, Charms Mistress at Hogwarts. The date of the wedding has yet to be announced. Both Master Snape and Mistress Granger are recognized by the Ministry of Magic for their contribution to the war effort against You-Know-Who. They were both awarded the Order of Merlin."_

Hermione gawked at the article. It was quite small but large enough that everyone she'd ever met would read it.

"He's dead and they can't even say Voldemort," she said, throwing the paper down. Snape was not going to be happy at all. She looked at the ring on her hand, the way it caught the light and shrugged. If he really wanted to marry her, the next few months would be the true endurance test. She found a clean mug and poured tea into it, adding a splash of cream and two sugars and brought it to him, setting it quietly on the night stand and sitting on the bed's edge. He was snoring.

"Severus," she said, touching him.

"Blast, woman, have you ever heard of sleeping in?" he groaned, rolling over.

"I do let you sleep in," she said, rolling her eyes. "There is something you ought to see." He looked at her and she was bleary through his early morning eyes.

"Why do you look so…" he waved his hand in the air dramatically, "Tense?"

"There's something in the paper," she said.

"The Prophet?" he asked.

"About the wedding," she said. He sat up a little.

"Who's wedding?" he asked.

"Our wedding," she said, exasperated.

"What? We haven't got a wedding. We've only barely got an engagement!" he said, throwing the bedcovers back and rushing into the living room. He took the paper from the table and read it quickly.

"Don't be mad, there isn't anything that can be done now," she said, coming up behind him.

"Don't be mad that our personal business has been published in something I hardly even consider a real news source?" he roared, throwing the paper down. She drew back, surprised. She'd not seen him this angry in years, this was Professor Snape – the dour potions master, the man stretched thin living a double life. This was not the gentle Severus who'd pursued her so subtly.

"It isn't the first time and probably won't be the last," she said, trying to be practical. He snorted. "Remember when there was all that trash about me and Harry?" she asked. "Or when the Quibbler printed that your mum was a vampire and your dad was a bat?" She tried not to smile – that had been quite amusing at the time, actually. But he merely turned redder with anger.

"I don't see why YOU'RE so CALM," he said.

"Don't you DARE yell at me!" she said, all trace of humor gone from her voice. "Unless you're ashamed to be marrying me, ashamed to let people know," she accused. This calmed him down immediately.

"Of course not," he said, reaching his hand out. She crossed her arms, refusing to take it.

"I don't see why every little thing has to be so dramatic all the time," she said, snidely. "Why can't you just be happy?"

"I am happy," he said. "Being happy doesn't have anything to do with being private."

"Well what did you expect to happen? You want our friends to come to our wedding, don't you?" she asked.

"I didn't think you wanted a big wedding," he said.

"You didn't want a big wedding," she corrected. "You've not asked my opinion on the matter yet."

"We've only been engaged for a few days," he pointed out. "I hadn't gotten there yet."

"Well you'd better get there soon because the ball is rolling," she said, pointing to the announcement. The picture Mrs. Weasley had included was from the remembrance ceremony for the people who had fallen in the war. Everyone looked dreary on the stage – Harry and Ron were on one side of the podium and Hermione was on the other. The minister of magic was speaking and Severus was at the far edge of the picture – they weren't even standing next to one another. It was probably the only picture she'd had, despite it being terribly inappropriate for a wedding announcement.

"Fine, fine," he said. "Fine."

"You ought to send Molly Weasley a howler before you do anything else," Hermione said, feeling a little spiteful. Snape's eyes widened and he got a feral smile.

"I knew there was a reason I wanted to marry you," he said, walking toward the desk to dig out the box of waiting red envelopes. She sighed and went to take a shower and attempt to start the day over. Her hopes were not high.

oooo

The children came back. Hermione could endure the polite, yet halting congratulations of the fellow staff that were used to her quiet relationship with Snape but the children's open stares and mockery was infuriating. They were wise enough never tease to her face and to never speak at all in front of Snape, but Hermione often over heard her students discussing the announcement and looking at the engagement ring on her finger.

"Why?" she overheard one Slytherin girl say standing in the hallway near the library. "He's awful, sure, but she isn't even pureblood." Hermione wanted to lash out, to take every point that slimy house had earned but she knew it would be pointless. It would only fuel their fire. Instead she went back to her quarters.

She didn't spend a lot of time there now that she was with Severus. She kept things she didn't use daily there like most of her books and some of her clothing. The elves kept it clean though and she sat down on the edge of her crisply made bed.

She thought about leaving Hogwarts.

It would be terrible to do so. She was hired for the express purpose of taking over Flitwick's job when he retired and he was to retire at the end of the year. Then, she would be the full-time charms mistress, get a significant pay raise and, if she wanted it, to be the head of Gryffindor. Sometimes, when she was being particularly strict with a student, Snape would call her Minerva Jr., very mockingly. Still, it did look like she was following rather closely in McGonagall's footsteps. To leave Hogwarts now would be losing all of that and would force, most likely, Flitwick to stay longer. He was so excited about leaving after so many years of service to the school.

She just didn't want to lose Severus over all of it.

Ginny Potter had apologized enough, though Hermione knew it wasn't really her fault. She'd all but told Ginny to spread the word, and it wasn't her fault that her mother had overstepped her bounds so enormously.

She had yet to see Molly Weasley face to face. Ginny had informed her that her mother had received the howler and spent the rest of the day in her bedroom, refusing to speak to anyone.

"Serves her right," Hermione had muttered, a little cruelly. Molly's shame was no crueler than having to put up with an irate Snape, however. He still wasn't quite the same. He didn't want to talk about the wedding and his anti-social tendencies had increased. The only time he was fully himself was when they were alone. He liked to come to bed after her. He liked when she was already warm beneath the covers so he could slide in next to her and put his cold feet on her warm ones. He liked to wrap his arms around her waist and plant kisses, sloppy kisses, all down her neck and shoulder.

"Let's not have a big wedding," she said, later.

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes. He'd been on the precipice of sleep.

"Let's just go… have someone marry us and be done with it. If we have a ceremony then we'll have to invite people we don't like and the Press will come," she said. "They were hiding out in bushes, transfigured into objects, wearing invisibility cloaks at Harry and Ginny's wedding. We don't want that, do we?"

"I want what you want," he said.

"Liar."

He laughed, dryly.

"I will endure what you want," he corrected.

"What if…" she'd been thinking about this for a while, "What if we had a Muggle wedding," she said.

"I've never been to a Muggle wedding but they aren't all that different, right?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see her better in the dark.

"They're less to do with being one with the earth and more to do with organized religion," she admitted. "But we could have it at a Muggle church or reception hall. No magic."

"Church?" he asked. "Muggle religions are all cults."

"That's a little extreme," she said. "Maybe we could have it outside. In my parents backyard or something."

"I don't know," he said.

"We could just go to Vegas," she said. He looked blankly at her.

"It's this city in America… never mind." She rolled over to face him, to press against him more snugly. "We can talk about it later."

"What do Muggle brides wear?" he asked. Ginny had been a somewhat traditional witch bride and had worn a loose fitting beige robe, an earth tone. Witches didn't tend to wear much; they wore a loose smock or robe and no shoes. There were flowers and chanting and it was interesting to watch but not at all what Hermione imagined for her self.

"Pretty white dresses," she said. "Uncomfortable shoes."

"Who would wear shoes at a wedding?" he said. "That's preposterous."

"I'll get you a book on weddings," she said. "And for future reference, don't call my culture preposterous. It's rude."

"If you're going to have problems with my being rude, we're going to have to have a serious talk, my love," he said, putting his head back on the pillow.

"You're all talk," she said. "I'm not scared of you anymore, Professor Snape." She could feel his smile as he kissed her.

oooo

Snape read the book on weddings tentatively. Sometimes he laughed out loud at the words and sometimes he demanded further explaining of customs.

"Why in the world would you throw flowers at someone?" he asked.

"You're not throwing flowers at them, you're throwing the flowers to them," she corrected. "It's a passing of the torch, so to speak."

"But…" he said, shaking his head. "Strange."

Once she saw him turn the book upside with a look of pure horror on his face.

"There is a whole section about showering with your friends," he said. "I'm not comfortable with that."

"It's a…never mind. Give me that book back," she said, laughing. "It isn't helping my case at all."

"Can't we just hire someone to plan this all for us?" he asked, his tone of voice bordering on a whine.

"Why hire someone? I have a mother who would be falling all over herself to plan her only daughter's wedding. Plus, hiring someone runs the risk of exposing magic to Muggles. I'll write my mother right now," she said. "She'll be thrilled. Oh thank you!" she said, kissing his cheek and rushing off to her office.

"Wait," he called after her but it was too late. "I don't remember agreeing," he muttered to himself.

On the way back from the owlery, she heard the distinctive shouts that could only mean one thing – a fight. She rushed toward the sound, her wand at the ready, and turned the corner. The Slytherins, since the defeat of Voldemort, had stopped picking on the Gryffindor's so much but had, for some reason, channeled the range into the house of Hufflepuff. Hermione saw an older Slytherin point his wand at one of her second year Hufflepuffs, a smallish boy called Huston.

"Stop!" she cried. The Slytherin, the curse already falling from his lips, turned toward Hermione with a look of surprise and the flash of grey light shot from the tip of his wand hit not the cowering Hufflepuff, but Hermione instead. She opened her mouth in surprise before feeling quite dizzy and then feeling nothing at all.

oooo

The student had been expelled. Snape had shouted at McGonagall for fifteen minutes straight (giving her no options for interruption) before she had finally managed to get a word in edgewise.

"He's already gone, Severus, the boy is already gone. Attacking a student is against a number of rules but attacking and injuring a professor is unacceptable," she said. She looked at him sadly. "Hermione is going to be fine."

"Then why hasn't she woken up yet?" Snape said, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. "It's been hours."

"We don't know what it was that hit her," McGonagall said. They were just repeating themselves now but it was reassuring to hear words, any words.

"Matthew Dougherty is not the first Slytherin to create his own, very dangerous curses," she pointed out.

"Please," he said. "Not now."

"All the physical damage is gone," she reminded him. "She's just resting now. She'll wake up when her body can handle it."

"I'll be in the infirmary if anyone needs me," he said, rising.

"You still have classes," she said, a gentle reminder.

"Fire me," he said, walking out.

Hermione was tucked tightly into the infirmary bed. He only had one more class before dinner and before, thankfully, the end of this horrible week. He sat down on the wooden chair by her bed and took her hand in his. Her skin was pale and her breathing steady, but shallow.

"Hi," he said, and immediately felt foolish. "Hermione," he said. "We're going to be fine."

She didn't stir.

"They've expelled Dougherty," he continued, "And Mr. Gwin, that small Hufflepuff who fails his potion tests, he made you a thank you card. He was in here for nearly 45 minutes earlier." He paused, his thumb making small circles on her hand. "He apologized to me sixteen times, I think." Snape brought the hand to his lips. He kissed each of her knuckles.

"Hermione," he said, more loudly. "Hermione," he said, quieter. "Hermione, please don't leave me here alone."

oooo

In the morning, when her status hadn't changed, arrangements were made to move her to St. Mungo's. By evening, they were both out of the castle. Hermione was in a private room at St. Mungo's and Snape was in a different chair by her side.

"Family only after seven pm," a nurse said, coming into the room to check on the stagnant patient.

"We're engaged," Snape said, sadly.

"Rules are rules," she insisted, looking at the clock that was already five minutes past.

"Madame, leave now," he said, his voice rising to a yell. The nurse tried not to look upset as she left the room.

oooo

The absence of two professors and one student at the school was palpable. The Slytherins were feeling rather betrayed having lost both one of their own and for the time, their head of house. All the younger students who had Hermione as a teacher walked around sad and scared.

"Voldemort may be gone but there is still destruction in his wake," McGonagall told the portrait of Dumbledore.

"If you lose Miss Granger, you lose them both," he said.

"I know," McGonagall said. "I know."

oooo

Three more days passed before Hermione's condition altered. Snape had fallen asleep with his head on the edge of her bed, his spine arched uncomfortably. It was a shallow sleep – he hadn't had a good night's sleep in nearly a week. Now, he felt the feeling of narrow fingers running through his hair. He sat up abruptly.

"You really are a greasy git," she said, her voice rough and she coughed.

"Hermione!" he said.

"What happened?"

But he wasn't ready to explain it all already. He touched his wand to the panel on the wall to alert the medi-witch and gathered Hermione into his arms.

"I'm so relieved," he said.

"Am I at St. Mungo's?" she asked but started to cough again and so he poured her a glass of water and she drank it, staring at him over the lip of the glass with big, brown eyes. He was at a loss as how to start. The door opened and Snape was ordered out of the room and the door closed in his face and he was saved of any explanation. He paced and growled and sprinted up to the owlery on the top floor to send a message to McGonagall. _Hermione woke up,_ he wrote.

Downstairs, he stood at the door impatiently and was on the verge of hexing it down when it opened and the medi-witch stepped out. She was older and stout – too old to ever have been Snape's student.

"She's through the worst of it now," the witch said, nodding. "I think she was just tired and needed the rest."

"Can I take her home?" he asked, frantic and suddenly so tired of the death and magic charged air of the hospital.

"In the morning," she said, thoughtfully. "If she stays improved." Snape pushed past her into the room. Hermione was sitting up now, propped against several pillows and the draperies had been opened to the night sky. Snape had lost track of the hours, the progression of time. His owl would probably wake McGonagall.

"She said that the spell that hit me isn't known?" Hermione asked. "I'm lucky to have woken up at all. Severus, you look terrible."

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Stiff and sore," she said. "But otherwise not too bad."

"Good," he said. "You scared me," he admitted and he felt the sting of tears. He wouldn't cry, however, because he hadn't for years.

"I'm sorry," she said, sincerely.

"Anyhow, Mr. Dougherty has been expelled," he said.

"Oh," she said. "Well, I suppose that had to be done." But she sounded vaguely guilty.

"He nearly killed you," Snape said. "I nearly killed him."

"No," she said, but she believed he would have. She took his hand and they sat in the room, quite and alive.


	8. Chapter 8

Flitwick was happy to take over Hermione's classes up until exams. Hermione was well enough in the weeks following her release from St. Mungo's – the soreness faded but the stiffness returned if it was too cold and she walked with effort and an unnatural gait when it rained. Snape made a salve and at night he rubbed it into her skin and the stiffness eased away.

Hermione wanted to proctor her own exams and her students, for the most part, were happy to see her. Summer came and the castle emptied and the thick, white cloths were again put over the house tables.

The wedding was to be in the summer, toward the end, and Hermione's hospital stay and recovery had been a set back. Now, though, with the children gone, Hermione put some clothes in a bag and informed Snape of her decision.

"I'm going home to plan the wedding," she said. "You're welcome to join me."

"At your Muggle home?" he asked, dubiously.

"Well," she said. "I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind us staying at 12 Grimmauld Place but I need some time out of this castle."

"Okay," he said.

"Really?" she asked.

"If I let you go off and plan a wedding all by yourself, who knows what you'll expect me to do," he said. "Plus, I don't like to be away from you."

"Soon you won't ever have to be," she assured him. So he unpacked her bag and repacked their things together in a more sturdy, wizard travel case, manufactured to be shrunk without wrinkling the contents within. He told McGonagall they were leaving, sticking his head into her office. She was still knee deep in end of year paperwork.

"But you never leave the castle in the summer," she said.

"We'll be at the Black house," he said. "Planning the wedding." McGonagall's face broke into a broad smile.

"Oh, Severus," she said in a way that was far too motherly for his taste. "Of course! I look forward to my invitation."

"Yes, well, it's a Muggle ceremony," he said, leaving. "So buy a dress."

oooo

Harry had been happy to give them a room and Ginny with her arms full of little girl had been there to meet them. She'd opened all the windows to air it out.

"It's been a little neglected since the holidays ended," she admitted. "But it's all here for you."

"Thanks, Gin," Hermione said. Lola was standing, looking up at Snape with a dreamy smile. He had crossed his arms and was looking severely down at her, silently demanding behavior. Lola put her thumb in her mouth.

"She's been a terror all day," Ginny said. "Until now." Ginny had cut her long red hair to just below her ears – it made her look older and made her look more like a mum. She'd said to Hermione earlier that Harry already wanted to have another baby. He wanted a boy.

"Why don't we take her for the day?" Snape said, mildly. Both women turned to look at him with wide eyes and open mouths.

"Sorry?" Ginny asked. "Because I thought I heard…"

"We're merely going to Hermione's parent's house to consume tea and talk about flower arrangements. I'm sure Mrs. Granger would be thrilled with a child to spoil."

"Yes, she would," Hermione said, slowly.

"We'll bring her back in one piece," Snape said.

"You and Harry could go get lunch," Hermione promised, hopping on board.

"You don't have to convince me," Ginny said. "Professor Snape, Lola would love to go with you." She handed Hermione the diaper bag on her shoulder. "Forget lunch, Harry and I could shag," she whispered to Hermione.

"You may call me Severus," Snape said, pretending he didn't hear her last comment.

"Yeah, maybe next year," she said, uneasily. "Come here, darling, give mummy a kiss." She showered her tiny daughter with kisses.

"Come along, Charlotte," Snape said, picking the girl up. They climbed into the floo, the three of them a tight fit, and flooed to Hermione's house. Ginny waved goodbye.

oooo

Snape had not bothered to change from his lightweight summer robes and looked rather intimidating to Hermione's mother as they appeared in the fireplace. But the beautiful little girl in his arms overrode any fear.

"Oh!" Mrs. Granger cooed. "Who is this?"

"Mum, this is Harry's daughter, Lola," Hermione said, brushing ash off all three of them. Her parent's floo was rarely used so they didn't bother to clean it and now their clothes were worse for it.

"Charlotte," Snape said. "…is her full name."

He preferred it and was the only one who used it regularly.

"She's a doll," Mrs. Granger said. "I have some of your old toys in the attic, I'll go find them. Hermione, there is a pitcher of lemonade in the icebox." She disappeared up the stairs. Lola was set on the rug and toddled around, inspecting all the unfamiliar Muggle objects.

"Keep her away from the electrical outlets," Hermione said, moving into the kitchen to retrieve some cold drinks. Lola spied a bottle in her bag and pulled it out to suck on.

"You'll have to give that up soon," Snape chided the girl, gently. Lola blinked at him and plopped down, her blow softened by her diaper.

Hermione came in with drinks just as her mother came down the stairs with a crate of dolls and stuffed animals.

"Darling, I put some bridal magazines on the table in the garden. Your father had to go to work, but he'll be in for dinner," she said. "Let's sit in the sunshine. Can I get you anything to eat, Mr. Snape?"

"No thank you, Madame," he said. "I came merely to observe."

"Ha," Hermione said, unconvinced.

The yard was a decent size for the house and the neighborhood and the Grangers kept their yard immaculate. Lola liked to run around on the lawn chasing dragonflies and shrieking with laughter. With his wand, to the amusement of Lola and Mrs. Granger both, he bewitched a wooden airplane from the crate of toys to fly around her and she chased it merrily. But the little girl tired herself out quickly and soon climbed into Snape's lap, sweaty and warm.

"Are you tired?" Snape asked, his vice directed at the girl, not loud enough to interrupt Mrs. Granger's speech on modest heels.

"Yeah," Lola said. "Bottle." Hermione glanced over.

"Put her down in my bedroom," she said. "Upstairs on the left." Snape lifted the girl easily, and carried her into the house. The girl was like a sack of flour in his arms. He found the bedroom that had once belonged to his fiancée and laid Lola down on the twin bed. It was too warm to cover her, but he set a stuffed bear next to her for company.

The room was clean and unlived in – a guest room now – but there were signs remaining of a little girl's childhood. There was white wallpaper with tiny pink flowers in vertical stripes. There was a bookshelf overflowing with picture books up to thick novels. There was a desk and a small chair. Having inspected everything to his fill, he went downstairs.

"How many people, do you think?" Hermione asked as Snape sat next to her, draping his arm across her back.

"What?" he asked.

"To invite?" she clarified. "Mum says at least 25 Muggles."

"I don't have any family," he said. "Invite whomever you want."

"None at all?" Mrs. Granger asked, sadly.

"It's better this way," he assured her. "As for wizards, you'll want Minerva and Filius."

"Yes, many of the Order members will want to come – all of the Weasleys…" she trailed off.

"Except," Snape supplied.

"Yes, but I can't not invite him," Hermione said, frustrated.

"Who?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Ronald," Hermione said, her voice full of venom.

"Ahh," Mrs. Granger said. "I'm going to go start thinking about dinner. Write down your invitation list on this paper." She handed Hermione the list and moved into the kitchen.

"How are you?" Hermione asked, taking Snape's hand.

"Fine," he said.

"I was thinking, since there can't be magic at the wedding, we should have a second reception at 12 Grimmauld Place," she said.

"This isn't going to be small," he commented. She shook her head.

"No," she laughed. "So get ready."

oooo

August arrived at a terrifying speed. Snape has spent years at Hogwarts and the summers had always been empty and quiet but now his summer was filled with planning and preparation. The day before the wedding, Hermione left him at 12 Grimmauld Place to go to her parents.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Hermione said. He still didn't understand why they had to be separated but she adamantly reminded him that it was tradition and offered no better explanation. He was just along for the ride. Truth be told, he would be pleased when this whole wedding extravaganza was finished. He wanted to be married but he wished he didn't have to get married. Still, Hermione was excited.

They'd had only one spat in the course of planning and it had been on the hottest day of the summer. Hermione had padded around 12 Grimmauld Place with bare feet and her hair pulled up off her neck. They were both tired and on edge and Hermione had asked him, and none too kindly, to choose a best man.

"The only man I would ever want to stand by my side is hanging on a wall in an office in Hogwarts," he said. "We'll go without."

"No," she said. "We won't."

In the end, he chose Lupin simply because he would do the job without sniveling and because Snape would Adava Kadavra himself before he would allow Potter to be his best man.

Now, with Hermione gone, he went to the kitchen and Lupin was there, reading the Prophet, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Well," he said. "Are you ready?" Snape didn't answer but sat down at the table. What was there to do but wait? "I'm glad you're marrying her," Lupin continued, undeterred by Snape's silence. "Everyone thought she would end up with Ron and eight children, poor but happy but Hermione always had more to offer than that. With you, she'll do great things."

"Hmm," Snape said.

"You're welcome," Lupin said, chuckling.

Snape didn't sleep. His mind was heavy with obligations – when to get up, what to wear, when to arrive at the hall they'd rented to hold the ever-expanding ceremony. He felt nervous but he also felt like he was making the right decision. Hermione was Hermione, he loved her and he thought that she loved him too. She would make a good wife for him and he would do his best to be a good husband. He didn't feel like he could ask for more than that.

The sky was graying with the dawn by the time Snape fell asleep. A few hours later he awoke to Lupin knocking on his door.

"You better get up, mate," Lupin called through the doorway. Severus grumbled and kicked the bedclothes off him. His eyes felt like there was sand in them and he took the vial of pepper-up potion from the dresser top. He had an inkling that sleep would to be slow to come. The pepper-up potion did wonders to clear his head and he congratulated himself for his foresight before showering and dressing in the clothes he would be married in. Hermione had wanted him in a Tuxedo but he had thought the little bow at his neck was ridiculous so she'd agreed on a nice suit with a grey neck scarf.

The reception hall was already milling with guests – mostly Muggles; their shining automobiles glistened in the parking lot. Hermione's father shook his hand and pointed him and Lupin toward his dressing room, though he'd already donned his suit. But Snape could at least sit quietly in the mean time, waiting for the ceremony to start.

"I never planned to marry," Snape said, sitting in the chair in front of the mirror. The counter space before him was empty. He felt his wand long and rigid inside his sleeve and the familiar feeling comforted him inside the unfamiliar clothes.

"Don't go opening up to me now after so many years of stony silence," Lupin said good-naturedly.

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" he asked. He wished Dumbledore were there; he wished he hadn't been the one to have to kill him.

"Making an honest woman out of Hermione? Yes, that's the right thing," Lupin said.

"My parents were a mixed marriage – it didn't end well," he complained.

"Hermione's a witch," Lupin said, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"Muggle born," he muttered.

"But you love her," Lupin said. "We all know that you do." There was a knock on the door.

"She's arrived," Mr. Granger said, putting his head into the room. "Time to get started."

"Thank you," Snape said. He stood, straightened his suit. It was time.

Standing in front of the crowd of mostly strangers made Snape feel nervous. Watching McGonagall grin at him didn't help. Hermione's Muggle friends and family all watched him with the same critical eye. He could see the questions they were burning to ask in their eyes. Questions like, "Who is this man?" and "Where did he come from?"

He could see them comparing Hermione's age to his. Still, wizards aged much more slowly than Muggles and before long, Hermione's youth wouldn't seem like such a burden.

He stood next to the kind looking priest and the crowd's murmurs were easy enough to drown out. It took a moment for the music to enter through his mental block but then he saw the doors open and there was Hermione standing with her father. Hermione in a pretty white dress – his Hermione, the woman who would soon be his wife and he knew completely that they had both made the right choice.

The end.


End file.
